Running down the path,
need to pick up the pace.
this is a timed event,
a Ten Kilometer race.

Under forty minutes
would be a great time.
Push harder,
towards the finish line.

Thirty-eight minutes,
plus, small change.
My best performance
was in the range.

Up with the birds,
at Dawns early light.
No reason, I know,
just seemed right.

Sitting at my work area,
I remember, an "opening Day" of
Fishing in Upland Streams.
Next to the Manashtash Creek,
water moving fast, ice crystals,
gather along the creek side.

We have a campfire burning, and a separate
metal rack to put frying pans on for cooking.
We brought some eggs, not for fishing but to
eat, with our fresh caught trout, dipped in flour,
for a great, cold morning breakfast.
We reflect upon our sharing the benefits of
this offering.

Church bells are ringing,
on this Sunday morn.
Sun rays starting the Dawn,
as another day is born.

My good friend and I weren't fast,
but we were old and fit.
He said, "Let's get up in front at the
starting line." My response was,
"Are you crazy?"

We went to the front,
and the gun went off.
I was sprinting for my,
life as this pack of young men,
half our age, were about to climb,
up our backs. Wow!

The next morning the
Eastside Journal, as it was,
called at the time, had a picture,
of my friend and I as the race started.
No terror in my face at that time.

Don't recall, how we finished, but,
remember we, in our infinite wisdom,
had ran a 10 K at Pt 'Defiance Park in
Tacoma.

A long, tailed racoon,
went to the Moon.
He was searching, for
his friend the Loon.

Long was the journey,
to his own Moon.
It was an adventure,
ending too soon.

A fictional journey,
about a fork and a spoon,
just another story,
in this month of June

Whimsical ways,
we are what we are,
No matter how close,
Whether near or far.

Gossamer colors,
floating, through air,
blossoming sunlight,
now everywhere.

High, colored clouds,
suddenly appear,
as sun-streaked horizons,
brighten and disappear.

When night falls,
at Heaven's door,
leave this place,
you need no more.

Need not the grief,
which comes this way,
as incessant chatter,
is now on display.

There isn't a concept
of time or place,
when her mind is
mostly vacant space.

Questions, constantly of,
where are we,
becomes a need to answer,
for both me and she.

Forlorn,
I am lost,
need to explain,
why it is difficult,
for me to self-train.

Listening to music,
from Raechel Yamagata,
a citizen of Pennsylvania.
While I write or I should say
while I type my handwritten
notes that appear in this
Publication. Thank you, Carl
for allowing me to write and put into
your, Website. I am truly grateful.

I'm missing you now,
more than I can say,
as we rapidly approached,
our Anniversary date.

Sixty-six years
of wedded bliss.
We'll see it tomorrow,
with one more kiss.

You say you love me,
I know that you do,
as my heart swells,
because it's you.

You were asleep,
yesterday. I sat with
you for hours, a few,
leaving without telling
you, "Happy Anniversary".

A flame, now lit
as a story came,
about one person,
with a funny last name.

Joe Dweed, was the man
who had to place blame,
on the person,
with the funny last name.

So, what, you say,
it has already been said.
It's nuts, full of heartaches
and sorrow, so he fled.

Why run away when
you have a funny last name,
it was nothing you did.
There's no reason for shame.