Take my hand.
We will walk.
We will only walk.
We will enjoy our walk without
thinking of arriving anywhere.
The wind moves through the trees
like a thought that never settles.
Clouds shift,
not with urgency,
but with the patience of time
that knows it cannot be rushed.
A single birds lifts
from the fencepost,
its wings silent
......
In shadows deep where silence starts to creep,
The weight of striving drapes like heavy mist.
A clock unwinds, its hands in thoughts that sleep,
Yet echoes shout of goals that can’t be missed.
With heavy hearts, the weary wander home,
Each sigh a ghost of burdens barely shed.
The stillness cracks, like ice beneath a dome,
As fates collide—the old self’s left for dead.
......
They tell us to hold steady,
keep the ground firm,
but the ground itself shifts—
silent adjustments beneath
the weight of old decisions.
Change rolls in like the tide,
deliberate, insistent;
some brace against the swell, while
others dive into its forward pull.
......
visitors coming
expectancy afternoon
a hush in the blooms
saffron soon Sunday
and cardinal sings redly
cream clouds paint blue sky
butterflies flitting
through the forests of color
......
The wind moves through the trees
like a thought that never settles.
Clouds shift,
not with urgency,
but with the patience of time
that knows it cannot be rushed.
A single birds lifts
from the fencepost,
its wings silent
......
They tell us to hold steady,
keep the ground firm,
but the ground itself shifts—
silent adjustments beneath
the weight of old decisions.
Change rolls in like the tide,
deliberate, insistent;
some brace against the swell, while
others dive into its forward pull.
......
In shadows deep where silence starts to creep,
The weight of striving drapes like heavy mist.
A clock unwinds, its hands in thoughts that sleep,
Yet echoes shout of goals that can’t be missed.
With heavy hearts, the weary wander home,
Each sigh a ghost of burdens barely shed.
The stillness cracks, like ice beneath a dome,
As fates collide—the old self’s left for dead.
......
I was a learned meteorologist, studying azure atmosphere and vivid weather,
To give a prophetic daily forecast, like bees gliding remote locales of heather.
Often I had to issue advisories and warnings, like a jumbo roar of yellow lion,
So plans could be made and trouble avoided, until a new, lemon-gold horizon.
I also gathered much data to share, like enlightening ambles in green nature,
Where each beauty bloom's a true eyeopener, maroon scented ones so major!
Forests wore foxgloves, freesia and forget-me-nots, and friends came to call,
......
I was for long an active art enthusiast, with a special passion for still lifes,
As the roving, scarlet sun, develops late passion for the bustling nightlife.
I was ofttimes in large art museums, and I had traveled this whole world,
Always looking for another beautiful work, like lustrous moonlight pearls.
I zealously hunted lovelies by day, but I was a wide eyed, night owl, too,
As bright meteors turn into shooting stars, then disappear from our view.
My fabulous family shared in my zeal, and we often compared artworks,
......