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Nature wields the
most magic paintbrush at this
time of year.  Overnight the
colors change in ways
no human or computer ever wrought.

Still the little child
looking out the window
observing
from high up in the trees
fluttering leaves framing her view


So often
at the change of seasons
I feel relieved
that nature
didn’t forget.

It seems like
just as soon as we start to worry about the money
and have the talk
something new comes up and says
don’t worry, it will be okay

sent from my phone, sorry it's so small!

Yesterday was one of those days.
If I could have posted a photo
of the storm that passed through
driving hurricane-like rain sideways I would have.
We watched it all from inside these windows.

It is always a dilemma for me,
how much stays, how much goes.
I am a transient being
trying desperately to stay put.
Roots or wings?

poetry is a conversation
it’s in my head
but I’m talking to you,
or someone.
so I write it down

If I do become
a master of the haiku
then what will I do?
I’ll still
have two more lines to fill.

Sometimes I have nothing to say,
and no good way to say it.
Sometimes what I say comes out stupid
so I shut up.
The Tao says a vessel is only useful when it is empty.

Like a bold-faced sunflower
bursting radiant, standing tall.
Look at me.
I feed the birdsong.
I shine alone.

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