(2013)
Red, yellow and orange leaves Fall quickly now And create a tapestry of color That fill my mind With joy.
Yellow finches Line the bird feeder Against Spring’ s canopy Of green and purple tapestry. Back and forth they go
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
It’s that time of year again. The sound of honking geese fills the air, as they pass in alignment, to the Deep South.
The misty, night rain, Soaking bare trees, Bringing nourishment. I stand at the window, A steady beat echoes
Red and gold leaves Falling, Sing to me Of the season of change, Before the snow,
Pale blue moon Of August, Peeking behind The clouds, Luminous,
Memories of my childhood Visit more and more Each day, As ghosts of past relatives Cast their shadows,
Cold spring rain chills my body And yet, the birds fly in unison As if, it is a sunny day. The white tail deer Bounce through the ravine
Tonight, the wind whistles as it rushes through the atmospher… Winter’s bare limbs of swaying trees, dance in the shadows.
I do believe, to give to others lends meaning to our lives. To be there
Life is but a dream, our fantasies, spill, like liquid tears that pool and vaporize into the air.
When I first heard “The Blackbird,” In the middle Of night, I was just thirteen.
Walking on the beach of long ago, the constant roll of the gulf, it’s sound, like a lullaby.
Embrace that which comes with ease: The twinkling of an eye, The drumbeat of a heart, The blooming of a flower,