The west coast of FLA. is hot in the summer but there is always a breeze and water to cool off in or so I remember when I was a child.
The misty, night rain, Soaking bare trees, Bringing nourishment. I stand at the window, A steady beat echoes
The white snow lay gently on the ground in a swirl pattern. The sky, a slab of smooth grey stone.
Misty fog floating through bare trees. Cold waves of wind coarse through the woods whistling as they go
What if, The simple things In life, were the Most important Events.
Many thoughts in the mind, Some productive, some not. They glow like fires, Created by needs and
If I had all the time In the world To write, What would I say? What would be the most
Unable to be all things For all people, Perhaps at one time, I tried. Those days are
It is what it is Despite my wishes for it, Otherwise. You are who you are Despite my expectations,
The lines in my hand, Were read once, By a gypsy, who Predicated a long life... But with many interruptions.
Walking on the beach of long ago, the constant roll of the gulf, it’s sound, like a lullaby.
Twilight slides in quietly as birds fly to warm nests. Pink hues of evening reflect in the clouds. Soon the moon
The red cardinal high in a tree, caught my attention with his melodious chirp on my daily walk.
Driving through the small towns of America, children of all colors playing in the streets, some with tattered clothes
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,
Great scientific minds Working for cures Of terminal diseases, The clock ticks... What is the cure