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

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

The white snow, thin Like sand, over The fields, blowing Across the road. My car rambles

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…

The birds flock to the bird feeder, some with black, capped heads and others with

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

The white snow lay gently on the ground in a swirl pattern. The sky, a slab of smooth grey stone.

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

The many places I have been And countless faces I have seen, The many tales to be told, Into the universe, they unfold. It’s all a passing show,

Leaves falling, Another season Decorating the earth. One red leaf In my path,

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

Squirrels with bushy orange tails leap about the deck. Crickets hum, confused that it’s not dark yet. The caw of a blue jay

Not sure what to write while the world is on the brink of another war. While others face

If I had all the time In the world To write, What would I say? What would be the most

Inspiration is in the falling of rain, the soft coo of birds in late afternoon, the sinking of the