A silver mist, dropped to the street,
covering tree branches, smothering the heat.
Fog creeping in, "on little cat feet".
When the Sun rises, it will retreat.

I was up in the hills,
hunting for mushrooms.
It was in the Okanogan,
a brushy, sapling covered space,
when I came upon a small,
deserted place. It was surrounded
by trees, some buildings collapsed,
probably a miner, working his claim.
I thought of the stories, of his success
or a failure to find riches
of gold in his mine.
Perhaps the only gold
were the thoughts in his mind.

"There's someone out there,
they're talking to me."
I say, it's just the news
and you they cannot see.
You're sitting there
on the bed end, it could be,
there is confusion, here now,
distinguishing TV from reality.

"What have you written?"
words sometime I hear.
At times when I write,
words just appear,
at the end of my pen,
touching the notebook paper.
Random thoughts, are in the air,
soon I have new writings,
over here, there and everywhere.
My mind is not, as disciplined now,
as I write words, over again,
with no sense of when or how,
as I write for you, my unknown friend.

Every day is different,
yet they're the same,
when she cannot recall
our oldest neighbors name.

Why does daughter
sound like Otter?
Why does laughter
sound like after?

Short is our life,
just a flickering flame,
a gust of wind;
End of the game.

Love for another,
can be fickle,
can be true.
Depends on devotion,
if you're true
to the love,
you have discovered,
it's not about you.

Where are you Susan Sanborn?
What has happened to you?
We worked at Sears Roebuck,
Mail order back in 1972.

I see the red of a Rose,
in the lipstick you wore,
bringing color to your face,
surrounded with dark hair.
I recall when I saw you,
it was love at first sight,
or perhaps infatuation,
when I was around you.
What was the attraction?
Twas like the Moth to the flame
and while this was all happening,
I knew not your name.

Broken.
A pile of glass
when I threw a football
inside the room,
hitting the fixture,
a very loud boom!
"Would you explain this to me,
please tell me more.
Why is there broken glass
all over your bedroom floor?"

During the day gone by,
Knowing what you have endured.
We worked hard, with pride,
a prayer to the Lord, our God,
yet all the time and effort
we have made, missed the mark.
There is no cure; it must be,
All the light I cannot see.

I desire to do water colors,
I want to paint.
I bought materials,
brushes, pencils and pens,
with watercolor kits, as I
like to paint, Plein Air,
on in the field.
I have brief pencil sketches,
to keep the site in mine,
but find I no longer have the time.
I know it's a thin excuse,
but it is what it is.
Some day it will happen,
of this I am sure.

Time to go.
Time to say,
goodnight.
My eyes are
drooping now,
as lids start
to shutter,
back to bed soon
as I began to mutter.

Am I insane,
when I want
to believe,
lives will change,
when someone leaves?

Where is the new life
I promised to thee?
In this World, of today,
which has abandoned
life in a terrible way.

My heart is in anguish,
when I think of you.
The pain which I feel
emits from your soul.
Dementia the destroyer
of families today.
A hateful disease,
is all I will say.

My mind is broken,
I heard a loud snap,
as I listened to
more political crap.

It hung by a stem
to the bare branch above.
It was the last leaf
on the bare limb
of the tree.
Surprising, for we had,
wind gusts and much rain.
The leaves in the Summer,
were a lovely shade of green.
When fall arrived, it was cold
and the night temperatures dropped.
We witness the change, in colors,
bright yellow, red in the leaves
before they fall to the ground.
Yet, here is a lonely leaf,
the last of its kind of this tree,
and a barren branch,
awaiting to fly.

A long time coming,
are words I still hear,
as we see our resources,
continue to disappear.
We must conserve, we must do,
to save our resources
for our children to use.