The flesh withers as we age But our inner spirit Remains the same. And when the body dies The spirit breaks free

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

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

What is truth? It’s a changing sky, One day clear, The next, cloudy, Holding the blue and grey,

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.

The gift of summer Is the sound of a Creek flowing through Rocks. A blue bird perched

In the dead Of Winter, I long for Spring. In the rains Of Spring,

In the noble purpose of my life, In the clear and quiet chamber Of my soul, In the open and warm cave Of my heart,

I lay still While my loved one, Sleeps. His warm hand In my hand,

On a walk, many Brown-Eye Susan line the border, before the woods. Rain clouds move closer as if to give a hug, while

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

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

You may not know what you’ll do next: Hit the open road With your thumb stuck out. Give up all you own

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

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