(2015)
We have a huge owl that lives in woods behind our house, he sometimes hoots at night.
Harsh reality smacks like a slap of cold wind. Sometimes I’m a tough sailor, at the helm,
Rolling painted deserts of the west. Shrub bushes dot sloping hillsides. Relentless sun heats up
Lately, a sadness pervades, I mourn for youth, perhaps passion of younger days. With age, some of that passion
Pretend there is no tomorrow becau… there might not be. Live like there is only this momen… that is the truth. Nothing is solid but whispery,
Pink hues from the west Filter through Snow covered boughs Leaving, The evening light
Not a word heard As the river flows Over rock, around Banks that lie Waiting for visitors.
Holiday cheer and laughter, Multicolored lights blink faster, Music of love and good will, Grace the air like snowflakes. Tis the season to be compassionate…
Holy Holy Morning glory Blooming in a haze Of purple light. Holy Holy
On a walk this morning, the rocky cliffs that reach the blue-green sea, talk of strength today.
Life is but a dream, our fantasies, spill, like liquid tears that pool and vaporize into the air.
One lit candle burns brightly As I make a wish upon it’s Golden aura, that Humankind May learn to caress the earth As the wind does a field of flower…
Perhaps it is the mind separating things into this and that. Perhaps it is the mind with it’s preferences
Not sure what to write while the world is on the brink of another war. While others face
On a walk, many Brown-Eye Susan line the border, before the woods. Rain clouds move closer as if to give a hug, while
Time is going by fast, Trying not to live in the past, To keep priorities straight And not falter at the gate. To join the universal goal