On a walk, many Brown-Eye Susan line the border, before the woods. Rain clouds move closer as if to give a hug, while

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

The wind went through me, it carried the yellow, orange and red leaves lightly on the air. Another change is coming,

As I enter my sixty-third year, Fall leaves grace the path I love, With hues of red, Gold and orange.

On a walk this morning, the rocky cliffs that reach the blue-green sea, talk of strength today.

The buck in the garden Chewing up hard earned Labor, His antlers raise, His ears perk up, as

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

Beneath the bustling, hustling mind, deep inside, there is an oasis of calm.

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

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

The lines in my hand, Were read once, By a gypsy, who Predicated a long life... But with many interruptions.

Summertime gives A chance to grow Under the sun, Travel, to new places And have some fun.

Red and gold leaves Falling, Sing to me Of the season of change, Before the snow,

Dark bulk of a single bird, With red puffed up chest, As winter’s breeze sways his perch…

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