Between the time
the conversation moves
from “We really must be going”
to the time
the tail lights of the car are seen  diminishing
many a ritual is enacted –
sometimes taking quite awhile:
hugs and kisses
and well wishes –
prolonged often
because some folks
just hate to say “good-bye” –
awkward  occasionally
because some folks are lost for words.
And then there are those times
you want to see them off
and wish they’d hurry
because you’ve had enough.

The turtle headed north on route seventy –
was near the middle of the road
where I saw it maneuvering.
Cars were going east and west at sixty –
too fast to stop
but slow enough to see the tortoise shell
I hoped.

That  night before my dreams began
I saw again the turtle crossing.
I wondered if it made it to the other side.

So far my shell is still in tact
and that’s a fact at more than eighty.

Above the eastern trees
the backdrop of the stage was blue.

Some clouds appeared
and danced awhile
and changed their shapes
and changed their colors, too
reflecting light from sun’s  departure.

The theater started turning dark
as dusk arrived.

The encore was the moon rise
garnished with an evening star.

Below some land where old folks live  –
down where the aura of Lake Laura
embraces homes along the shore
is a terrace made of stone –
so recently assembled
by a man whose hands
are skilled to build
with substancxe  God once made
so long ago –
so long ago that we can scarcely fathom
all the eons passed since then.
It’s built to last
so far beyond our meager years –
may even be around
when peace on earth abounds.

If I don’t fry the egg just right:
easy and then over light
she lets me know.
For she abhors a runny white.
The orange may run some
but just a little.
If the white displays translucent signs
just where it joins the yoke
then I have failed to make
the perfect egg that she would like.

“I’ll never sail again! “ I said
after our boat capsized in Lake Tanzi.

I’m going sailing tomorrow.
I meant what I said when I said it.
I changed my mind

“I’ll never take another drink!”
Familiar? Yes.
“I’ll never cheat again!”
Well, maybe.

Perhaps you’re not like that
but I am, at least a little.
I can be depended on — mostly.
However, don’t write my words in stone.

About the time
we were gliding over Meadow Lake
powered by the wind
and feeling absolutely peaceful –
another suicide bombing in Irac!

Last year  when we were sailing
I recall the same thing happening.

I’ve been on the lucky side of life –
allowed to reach an age
I thought I’d never reach.

Some day I might achieve a century –
and bombs will  likely still explode.

This time of year
when lilies bloom
they also sleep –
begin to fold their petals up
just as the sun starts sinking.

Their loveliness remains obscure
through all  the hours of night.

But when the sky brings dawn
they open to the world again
and by the time that I walk by
they’re half way to the  beauty
that astounds the human eye.

There was no wind
and all the leaves were still.
Tall grasses held no motion
and all the birds were mute.

I was embraced by solitude
and found my meditation easy to maintain.
I’d found  an inner peace.

But then a fly flew by
and buzzed around my ear
and vanished.
My meditation ceased.
Serenity dissolved
and all the noble thoughts I had
flew from my head –
to join the fly perhaps.

The tunnel made of trees
allows the sun light in the winter
but is only filled with shadows in the summer.
I found it  blocked one day.
A dying tree had fallen cross the path.
A week passed by
and I returned
and found that one
had cleared the way for me.
Whether it was she or he
I didn’t know
but I was thankful.