Sitting on a camp stool,
close to the fire.
Coleman lanterns hanging
on tree limbs, by wires.

Early Fall in the Cascade foothills.
Not in the mountains,
based upon the elevation,
but canyons surrounded
by tall Fir and Tamarack trees.

A weekend outing, many
years ago. Crisp is the
first morning with frost,
appearing where there is water.

Soon the Sun rises, warming the air,
and patches of fog, will disappear.
The smell of the fire, mingles
with breakfast cooking on
a cast iron skillet.
A beautiful start for a glorious
day, in the outdoors.

Shop worn,
another word for used.
Does it matter if it happens,
in our life or are we excused?

I have noticed of late,
words do not flow.
I mentally tug and pull
but the words won't go.

I hope it is not
the depredation of my mind.
Not sure what I would do,
if my words became unkind.

Stop messing with
the words, in my head.
I'll do the writing,
please assure they're read.

Words will flow,
from this aging mind,
hopefully, words will be gentle
and not too unkind.

When words, read,
make you salivate,
perhaps they,
should be celibate.

Or a writing like this,
sometimes is unfortunate,
sorting through chaff,
as I pontificate.

An ideal dream,
at any rate.
Move forward now,
don't placate.

A gentle breeze,
softly moves the flowers.
It's peaceful, sitting here,
on the patio at the Independent
Living facility, looking at Nature's
work.

Predominately, Annuals, Peonies of
varied colors and stripes, overflowing
over the edge of the pots.

The only noise heard, is the
Swamp Cooler. An old style cooling
device, which trickles water over
fiber mats, while a fan blows the air.
A decent way to cool the Kitchen.

I'm surprised how few of the
residents come outside to
enjoy the beauty and serenity.

I gaze into her eyes,
and feel a despair
as I see my love,
and she's not aware.

How do you define Love?
What is the effect between,
two people, which contributes
to this wonderful phenomenon?

For whom the bell tolls.
it tolls for thee,
as death approaches,
your soul will be set free.

These simple words,
describing an end to life.
All the love and emotions,
will never more be,
for when the bell tolls,
it will be for thee.

An end to life,
the sound of a bell,
is death of a life,
hopefully lived well.

I'm reminded of Pavlov's bell,
when the dining room opens, at 7 AM.
A mass of people gathers outside the
doors, awaiting the opening, before 7.

"Act normal"
someone said to me.
What is act normal,
suppose to be?

Acting strange
or being different
works well with me
and my odd bent,

of facing life now,
not how it was meant to be,
but the harsh reality,
it's seems that way to me.

Attack the norm,
hold the rage.
Something else?
Turn the page.

Our lot in life
is beyond our control.
Please spare the dialogue,
he's just a troll.