Inspiration is in the falling of rain, the soft coo of birds in late afternoon, the sinking of the

Red, yellow and orange leaves Fall quickly now And create a tapestry of color That fill my mind With joy.

Birds flying here and there, landing on branches to chirp and bare, their heart. A private club among the trees with their own private code.

Mr. R. would talk about his deceased brother, he dreamed about him frequently; also of an eagle

On the brink of leaving, To go beyond These borders And say good-bye, To all you know,

Life is not fair at times... But of course things Change quickly down the line, We are born into a No guarantee world.

Old friends walking on the beach, the waves bring in, memories, of carefree days;

When I grow really old I may have to do yoga Full time, to get out The aches and creaks. When I grow really old

My spirit communes with the four directions: To the north are in-laws, our aging mother, her last

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

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

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

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

Pale blue moon Of August, Peeking behind The clouds, Luminous,

As I age this last quarter of my life, I am fading into the background. As I let go of roles,