4-1-19
The white snow, thin Like sand, over The fields, blowing Across the road. My car rambles
Harsh reality smacks like a slap of cold wind. Sometimes I’m a tough sailor, at the helm,
You may not know what you’ll do next: Hit the open road With your thumb stuck out. Give up all you own
Oh hummingbird Where are you now? Have you taken My courage with you? Oh hummingbird
Red and gold leaves Falling, Sing to me Of the season of change, Before the snow,
Mr. R. would talk about his deceased brother, he dreamed about him frequently; also of an eagle
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
Yellow finches Line the bird feeder Against Spring’ s canopy Of green and purple tapestry. Back and forth they go
Pink hues from the west Filter through Snow covered boughs Leaving, The evening light
Memories of my childhood Visit more and more Each day, As ghosts of past relatives Cast their shadows,
Holy Holy Morning glory Blooming in a haze Of purple light. Holy Holy
The dance of fear, Of not being enough, Stops and starts. The unknown, an Uncharted sea,
Inspiration is in the falling of rain, the soft coo of birds in late afternoon, the sinking of the
My spirit communes with the four directions: To the north are in-laws, our aging mother, her last
My heart is a good heart, It beats strongly And works hard, To keep me alive. My mind is a good mind,