2-8-24. Thoughts on aging and letting go.
Perhaps it is the mind separating things into this and that. Perhaps it is the mind with it’s preferences
This evening the blank, white page is open. My nerves are on edge, while a storm forms on the horizon.
The chimes outside the pottery studio ring like a temple bell, calling the faithful to honor,
Driving down the road, The song, “Let It Be” Came on the radio. Taking me back to Various scenarios.
It’s that time of year again. The sound of honking geese fills the air, as they pass in alignment, to the Deep South.
Summer is near it’s end, I regret not visiting my childhood home, near the gulf, where the sunset
The gift of summer Is the sound of a Creek flowing through Rocks. A blue bird perched
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…
Pink hues from the west Filter through Snow covered boughs Leaving, The evening light
Easing down the gravel road, yellow leaves spiral across, like a welcome
Brown hawk with spotted tail, soaring on the wind, balancing like a sail. Your piercing cry
Life is not fair at times... But of course things Change quickly down the line, We are born into a No guarantee world.
Inspiration is in the falling of rain, the soft coo of birds in late afternoon, the sinking of the
As we shared stories, The warm hum of voices heard, A cup of love spilled.
In the rustle of leaves the wind plays a tune, the change of season is on the horizon. It asks permission