Rolling painted deserts of the west. Shrub bushes dot sloping hillsides. Relentless sun heats up

Not a word heard As the river flows Over rock, around Banks that lie Waiting for visitors.

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

I do believe, to give to others lends meaning to our lives. To be there

Looking at my journal’s Blank page While geese fly by and honk A greeting. The red cardinals

What if, The simple things In life, were the Most important Events.

In the rustle of leaves the wind plays a tune, the change of season is on the horizon. It asks permission

To open and risk hurt... Or stay closed but Never really live. Pain can reveal... A connection to

Red, yellow and orange leaves Fall quickly now And create a tapestry of color That fill my mind With joy.

Driving through the small towns of America, children of all colors playing in the streets, some with tattered clothes

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

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

In the blink of an eye It’s a different scene On the big movie screen So easy to get absorbed In the story line of time.

Her smile was like gold, Her lines were often bold, Her stories of wisdom told, In books that are now sold. She has left the earth,

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