Magazine Posts

These cool mornings so crisp and fair
Await the Sun to warm the air.
Flowers that are still in the ground,
Stand there silently, with leaves shrunken down
And will bask in the Sun's rays
On these remarkable clear, sunny afternoon days.

I think of you and of me,
And realize, we are lost at sea.
Lost in this sea of lingering doubt,
Knowing not what our life is about.
Doubting the system, facing us in life,
That's full of heartache, trouble and strife.

Days go by quickly, as we age.
Another day is gone, turn the page.

Down that path, I no longer trod,
I have found my faith in God,
It is no longer, just about me,
I must take care of thee.

I feel the wind and hear the rain
The noise brings such a sweet refrain.
I am in the garden, on my knees,
Planting starts of Columbine, as I please
To provide joy to neighbors passing by
Saying the garden does please the eye.

Albert Camus ~ (November 7, 1913 – January 4, 1960) French philosopher, author, and journalist.

When I die and live no more,
Will that be the final metaphor?
Knowing not, a difference it will make
For words spoken at my wake.

Here I am, all covered with dew.
Sitting in the garden, waiting for you.
I am tucked between flowers and vine,
The gnome that you said was thine.
So here I'll sit for just a while,
Hoping again, that I'll see your smile.

These words today
Are locked away
In the clutter,
Of my head.
It's no wonder
That I dread
Losing my ability
Writing for you.
I shouldn't worry
But I do.

I love the Fall; It's color display
Of deciduous trees, with their leaf array.
This cascade of colors, is quite renowned,
Until they fall and cover the ground.
The rake comes out, as you please.
My back will ache and my knees
Will creak. I will sweat and moan,
As I work this task, all alone.

Mendocino Tree Farm