Misty fog floating through bare trees. Cold waves of wind coarse through the woods whistling as they go

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

White heron skidding the blue, grey water, of the bay. How free and easy you make it look,

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

The misty, night rain, Soaking bare trees, Bringing nourishment. I stand at the window, A steady beat echoes

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

Perhaps it is the mind separating things into this and that. Perhaps it is the mind with it’s preferences

Photos are all I have At times, Of smiling familiar faces, My family spread out. I would travel often

A path with heart Is full of love Which makes us right Brings in the light And chases the dark.

Come with me To the mountain top, Where the crest touches The sky And the air so pure,

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

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.

As I age this last quarter of my life, I am fading into the background. As I let go of roles,

Today, I wish the pain to go, the fatigue that I fight so. This process of aging is unkind and yet, the law of nature is a fast lane of change.

Just a small part of me wants strife to go away, to return to a kinder time. Am I just losing courage? Life is draining me,