1-6-2019
It’s that time of year again. The sound of honking geese fills the air, as they pass in alignment, to the Deep South.
Some days you’re in bliss, Some days you’re in pain. Some days you’re up in the clouds, Some days you’re down in the flame… Some days you get what you want
My spirit communes with the four directions: To the north are in-laws, our aging mother, her last
Time passing by now In a blink of the eye, In the clap of a hand, In the chirp of a bird, In a flash of light
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
Sometimes wonder about a star, way afar. How life might be in outer space,
The white snow, thin Like sand, over The fields, blowing Across the road. My car rambles
Every hour we are someone Different, Every day something new Learned, Death is just another
Holy Holy Morning glory Blooming in a haze Of purple light. Holy Holy
Harsh reality smacks like a slap of cold wind. Sometimes I’m a tough sailor, at the helm,
Looking at my journal’s Blank page While geese fly by and honk A greeting. The red cardinals
Many thoughts in the mind, Some productive, some not. They glow like fires, Created by needs and
Life is not fair at times... But of course things Change quickly down the line, We are born into a No guarantee world.
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.
This is the America I know: A sea of white, black, red, yellow And brown faces, Strong minds and voices Raised to the sun,