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.

Dark bulk of a single bird, With red puffed up chest, As winter’s breeze sways his perch…

The misty, night rain, Soaking bare trees, Bringing nourishment. I stand at the window, A steady beat echoes

Perhaps it is the mind separating things into this and that. Perhaps it is the mind with it’s preferences

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

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,

Driving down the road, The song, “Let It Be” Came on the radio. Taking me back to Various scenarios.

The hummingbirds are buzzing As well as the bees. The Orioles land gingerly On top of the feeder. Cautiously they move down

The buck in the garden Chewing up hard earned Labor, His antlers raise, His ears perk up, as

Mr. R. would talk about his deceased brother, he dreamed about him frequently; also of an eagle

When I sit And watch The in and out Of breath, Thoughts no longer

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

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

What inspires me... Hummingbirds buzzing as they land, on nearby flowers. Their amazing wings