October, 2019
If I had all the time In the world To write, What would I say? What would be the most
This evening the blank, white page is open. My nerves are on edge, while a storm forms on the horizon.
In the dead Of Winter, I long for Spring. In the rains Of Spring,
You may not know what you’ll do next: Hit the open road With your thumb stuck out. Give up all you own
As I age this last quarter of my life, I am fading into the background. As I let go of roles,
When I sit And watch The in and out Of breath, Thoughts no longer
Many thoughts in the mind, Some productive, some not. They glow like fires, Created by needs and
Time passing by now In a blink of the eye, In the clap of a hand, In the chirp of a bird, In a flash of light
To open and risk hurt... Or stay closed but Never really live. Pain can reveal... A connection to
Standing at a crossroad Between this life And the next, Heart in hand I knock on that
White heron skidding the blue, grey water, of the bay. How free and easy you make it look,
The gift of summer Is the sound of a Creek flowing through Rocks. A blue bird perched
Ambition seems overrated at this time of life, effort seems more like strife. In my youth I was motivated by a hungry desire
On a walk, many Brown-Eye Susan line the border, before the woods. Rain clouds move closer as if to give a hug, while
An owl hoots on this cool, crisp Spring night. A sound that’s distant yet echos