Not a word heard As the river flows Over rock, around Banks that lie Waiting for visitors.

Perhaps it is the mind separating things into this and that. Perhaps it is the mind with it’s preferences

Grateful for: Sunrise of pink and gold Showing the way, Lighting the sky, To another blessed day.

Her smile was like gold, Her lines were often bold, Her stories of wisdom told, In books that are now sold. She has left the earth,

Standing at a crossroad Between this life And the next, Heart in hand I knock on that

The gift of summer Is the sound of a Creek flowing through Rocks. A blue bird perched

Easing down the gravel road, yellow leaves spiral across, like a welcome

The white snow, thin Like sand, over The fields, blowing Across the road. My car rambles

The lines in my hand, Were read once, By a gypsy, who Predicated a long life... But with many interruptions.

The flesh withers as we age But our inner spirit Remains the same. And when the body dies The spirit breaks free

When I sit And watch The in and out Of breath, Thoughts no longer

The red cardinal high in a tree, caught my attention with his melodious chirp on my daily walk.

It’s that time of year again. The sound of honking geese fills the air, as they pass in alignment, to the Deep South.

Itchy eyes scaly feet achy joints and bad teeth hair so fine

Squirrels with bushy orange tails leap about the deck. Crickets hum, confused that it’s not dark yet. The caw of a blue jay