When I first heard “The Blackbird,” In the middle Of night, I was just thirteen.

Red and gold leaves Falling, Sing to me Of the season of change, Before the snow,

Driving down the road, The song, “Let It Be” Came on the radio. Taking me back to Various scenarios.

As I enter my sixty-third year, Fall leaves grace the path I love, With hues of red, Gold and orange.

Inhale, the arms float up, Exhale, the arms float down, Namaste, at the heart. Inhale, the body bends, Hands at top of mat,

The many places I have been And countless faces I have seen, The many tales to be told, Into the universe, they unfold. It’s all a passing show,

The chimes outside the pottery studio ring like a temple bell, calling the faithful to honor,

What if, The simple things In life, were the Most important Events.

Remember the night we took your mother’s car and drove over the skyway bridge? The moon was a bright light to show the way.

What is truth? It’s a changing sky, One day clear, The next, cloudy, Holding the blue and grey,

In the rustle of leaves the wind plays a tune, the change of season is on the horizon. It asks permission

Dark bulk of a single bird, With red puffed up chest, As winter’s breeze sways his perch…

Great scientific minds Working for cures Of terminal diseases, The clock ticks... What is the cure

On a walk, many Brown-Eye Susan line the border, before the woods. Rain clouds move closer as if to give a hug, while

An owl hoots on this cool, crisp Spring night. A sound that’s distant yet echos