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

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

This is the America I know: A sea of white, black, red, yellow And brown faces, Strong minds and voices Raised to the sun,

Driving through the small towns of America, children of all colors playing in the streets, some with tattered clothes

Looking at my journal’s Blank page While geese fly by and honk A greeting. The red cardinals

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

Brown hawk with spotted tail, soaring on the wind, balancing like a sail. Your piercing cry

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

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

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

Twilight slides in quietly as birds fly to warm nests. Pink hues of evening reflect in the clouds. Soon the moon

Geese are honking As they fly Across an orange colored Sky. My spirit soars

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

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

Unable to be all things For all people, Perhaps at one time, I tried. Those days are