(2013)
#Autumn
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
In the blink of an eye It’s a different scene On the big movie screen So easy to get absorbed In the story line of time.
My spirit communes with the four directions: To the north are in-laws, our aging mother, her last
In the dead Of Winter, I long for Spring. In the rains Of Spring,
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…
The hummingbirds are buzzing As well as the bees. The Orioles land gingerly On top of the feeder. Cautiously they move down
On a walk this morning, the rocky cliffs that reach the blue-green sea, talk of strength today.
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
What is truth? It’s a changing sky, One day clear, The next, cloudy, Holding the blue and grey,
If I had all the time In the world To write, What would I say? What would be the most
As I age this last quarter of my life, I am fading into the background. As I let go of roles,
It’s a billion stars moving and co… While we sleep. It’s one miracle after another and… We do not take the leap. It’s the great heave of nature
As I enter my sixty-third year, Fall leaves grace the path I love, With hues of red, Gold and orange.
The lines in my hand, Were read once, By a gypsy, who Predicated a long life... But with many interruptions.