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

Red bird perched on a tree limb laced with snow. So happy to see him and the joy he brings.

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

Great scientific minds Working for cures Of terminal diseases, The clock ticks... What is the cure

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

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

Lately, a sadness pervades, I mourn for youth, perhaps passion of younger days. With age, some of that passion

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

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

Walking down the dirt path, Sounds drift on the air, Birds chirping, leaves Rustling, dogs barking. Interconnection of life

An owl hoots on this cool, crisp Spring night. A sound that’s distant yet echos

The chimes outside the pottery studio ring like a temple bell, calling the faithful to honor,

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

When I first heard “The Blackbird,” In the middle Of night, I was just thirteen.

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