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

There is my shadow, A dark outline of this body And yet, it also holds, The hidden imperfections Of my existence.

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.

Memories of my childhood Visit more and more Each day, As ghosts of past relatives Cast their shadows,

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

On this New Year’s Eve Direction lost Drifting like blowing snow To and fro. A freeze comes

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

Orange full moon with a half smile, a hanging lantern, lighting the way, through dark streets,

The buck in the garden Chewing up hard earned Labor, His antlers raise, His ears perk up, as

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

Ambition seems overrated at this time of life, effort seems more like strife. In my youth I was motivated by a hungry desire

As we shared stories, The warm hum of voices heard, A cup of love spilled.

The wind went through me, it carried the yellow, orange and red leaves lightly on the air. Another change is coming,

Walking down the dirt path, Sounds drift on the air, Birds chirping, leaves Rustling, dogs barking. Interconnection of life