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

In the dead Of Winter, I long for Spring. In the rains Of Spring,

On the brink of leaving, To go beyond These borders And say good-bye, To all you know,

Red cardinal dancing On white snow, How regal you appear With your cloak of red, How it cheers my heart

Pretend there is no tomorrow becau… there might not be. Live like there is only this momen… that is the truth. Nothing is solid but whispery,

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,

The red cardinal high in a tree, caught my attention with his melodious chirp on my daily walk.

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

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

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

Summer is near it’s end, I regret not visiting my childhood home, near the gulf, where the sunset

My spirit communes with the four directions: To the north are in-laws, our aging mother, her last

When I sit And watch The in and out Of breath, Thoughts no longer

Driving down the road, The song, “Let It Be” Came on the radio. Taking me back to Various scenarios.

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