(2014)
Summer is near it’s end, I regret not visiting my childhood home, near the gulf, where the sunset
The birds flock to the bird feeder, some with black, capped heads and others with
Misty fog floating through bare trees. Cold waves of wind coarse through the woods whistling as they go
Perhaps it is the mind separating things into this and that. Perhaps it is the mind with it’s preferences
Dark bulk of a single bird, With red puffed up chest, As winter’s breeze sways his perch…
If I had all the time In the world To write, What would I say? What would be the most
In the rustle of leaves the wind plays a tune, the change of season is on the horizon. It asks permission
An owl hoots on this cool, crisp Spring night. A sound that’s distant yet echos
If we could embrace our sorrow and surf on our tears, surely our hearts would grow wider to hold the years
This evening the blank, white page is open. My nerves are on edge, while a storm forms on the horizon.
Soft gray clouds pass slowly by, Soon they will release a gift of r… Trees are shedding their leaves As they turn red, orange and yello… Signaling the squirrels to collect…
Not sure where we are headed, Could be a long ride, Keep your heart steady, Open wide your eyes. There is something to learn
The wind went through me, it carried the yellow, orange and red leaves lightly on the air. Another change is coming,
The gift of summer Is the sound of a Creek flowing through Rocks. A blue bird perched
Orange full moon with a half smile, a hanging lantern, lighting the way, through dark streets,