Magazine Posts

North of Ellensburg, not too far ahead,
Is a creek, with lock and gate,
Referred to as the Naneum Watershed.
When I was young and liked to fish,
I would go through weeds with dread
To wet my line and make a wish
For there were Rattlesnakes around
Lying somewhere on the ground.
To catch a fish, with hook and line
For fishing was a love of mine.

Wow! This Golden Eagle was a rare and beautiful site for this sunny morning on Camano Island.

The Moon hides behind the cloudy wisps
As it plays out it's Solar game.
Air is chilled, as a Northern wind
Places frost on window sill and pane.
The false Spring encouraged plants to grow.
This cold snap, a test of will,
Should soon be over, so warming Sun,
Heats the ground, creating many colors.
My inner feelings tell me to till
The soil; sow the seed and plant
The Primroses to brighten the drab garden,
Until the perennials are in bloom again.

Long years ago, with days no more,
Became our history and "days of yore".
Tales we could tell of our adventure,
Would more likely, be one of censure.
These stories could stand on their own
And probably never be told at home,
For life, which can be a mess,
Can also be one of happiness.
That my friend is up to thee
And your choice is for eternity.

I was young. It was Spring.
The Seattle Times, did this thing
That challenged youths pitching skill.
A wooden frame, of rectangular shape,
With a middle cut out, or "strike zone."
The object, was to throw strikes,
Until you threw four balls.
The contest winner, was the one
Who threw the most strikes,
Before they did finally succumb
With four balls or a walk you see,
And it was fortunately me.
A big event in the eyes of mine
A picture of me throwing strikes
In the Sports section, Seattle Times.
A great memory for me to share
About a success, where they weren't aware.

Do the words, I write, touch you?
If they don't, it's OK, to turn away
From this page and plan to renew
Your own vows to live another day.

Life is like a leaky boat,
With a goal to keep afloat.