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

Birds flying here and there, landing on branches to chirp and bare, their heart. A private club among the trees with their own private code.

If I could go back in time I would fix my wrongs, I would sing new songs And mend all hate And open the gate

This is the America I know: A sea of white, black, red, yellow And brown faces, Strong minds and voices Raised to the sun,

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

What is the happiest moment of the… When I make someone laugh When I am of use for the good When I show kindness When I hold a hand

Inhale, the arms float up, Exhale, the arms float down, Namaste, at the heart. Inhale, the body bends, Hands at top of mat,

Yellow finches Line the bird feeder Against Spring’ s canopy Of green and purple tapestry. Back and forth they go

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

You may not know what you’ll do next: Hit the open road With your thumb stuck out. Give up all you own

Red, yellow and orange leaves Fall quickly now And create a tapestry of color That fill my mind With joy.

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

Holiday cheer and laughter, Multicolored lights blink faster, Music of love and good will, Grace the air like snowflakes. Tis the season to be compassionate…

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

Walking on the edge, Between awareness and sleep. Sometimes... I’m in the moment, I feel my body,