Cold spring rain chills my body And yet, the birds fly in unison As if, it is a sunny day. The white tail deer Bounce through the ravine

On a walk, many Brown-Eye Susan line the border, before the woods. Rain clouds move closer as if to give a hug, while

Old friends walking on the beach, the waves bring in, memories, of carefree days;

My heart is a good heart, It beats strongly And works hard, To keep me alive. My mind is a good mind,

Sitting on the lake shore, Which made my heart soar, The water rippled at times, Swirled into beautiful lines, Clouds reflected in it’s mirror,

As we shared stories, The warm hum of voices heard, A cup of love spilled.

This evening the blank, white page is open. My nerves are on edge, while a storm forms on the horizon.

This is the America I know: A sea of white, black, red, yellow And brown faces, Strong minds and voices Raised to the sun,

Every hour we are someone Different, Every day something new Learned, Death is just another

Holy Holy Morning glory Blooming in a haze Of purple light. Holy Holy

It’s that time of year again. The sound of honking geese fills the air, as they pass in alignment, to the Deep South.

Ambition seems overrated at this time of life, effort seems more like strife. In my youth I was motivated by a hungry desire

The lines in my hand, Were read once, By a gypsy, who Predicated a long life... But with many interruptions.

My spirit communes with the four directions: To the north are in-laws, our aging mother, her last