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

Harsh reality smacks like a slap of cold wind. Sometimes I’m a tough sailor, at the helm,

Unable to be all things For all people, Perhaps at one time, I tried. Those days are

The gift of summer Is the sound of a Creek flowing through Rocks. A blue bird perched

When you are not here An empty heart full of fear Arises and wonders If I will see you again. What will I do without

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

This evening the blank, white page is open. My nerves are on edge, while a storm forms on the horizon.

In the noble purpose of my life, In the clear and quiet chamber Of my soul, In the open and warm cave Of my heart,

My heart is a good heart, It beats strongly And works hard, To keep me alive. My mind is a good mind,

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

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,

One year since I traveled to paradise. One year since I laughed and danced with friends. One year since I watched

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

I remember your smile, your laugh,… you gave so freely. It’s hard that you are gone. I sigh and walk along the bay.

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