In my dream,
I walk alone, and it’s
Cold,
Windy,
Harsh.
No voices but the wind’s.
The wind begs me to sit,
And I find a tree and sit
On its roots.
A bat flies out of the tree,
A black shadow against an even
Blacker sky,
A dark heart in a dark soul.
The last leaf in the forest stirs,
And then Winter arrives,
Cold,
Windy,
Harsh.
I try to hold our memory in my head,
Of when this forest was green,
And we were new and fresh,
Warm,
Still,
Kind.
In my dream, you appear
And I meet your eye.
But your memory is absent
Quicker than it came,
And I am left alone,
Cold,
Windy,
Harsh.

In this life we
live there is a
time to give, to
give thanks for
what we have
what we do
who we are
as we stand and
shine like the
brightest star.

In this time of thanks
we try to see
the goodness of gathering
with family
hoping that the closing
will hold the key
to an opening for better
in the new year to be.

The gathering of family
at holiday events
should NOT be about
the bling
the number of presents.
It should be about
time together
genuinely,
that idea seems so
given, hello
maybe it's just me.

There is thunder in our hearts,
Lightning in our souls,
A pounding in our chests and a
Quaking in our bones.
“Our time has come!”
The cry arises,
“Our time has come!”
We charge forward unafraid,
Into life’s tantalizing parade,
Our colors waving high
As we ride on to the sky,
Chasing our dreams and visions,
Decimating anything in our way.
There is thunder in our hearts,
Lightning in our souls,
A pounding in our chests and a
Quaking in our bones.
“Our time has come!”
The cry arises,
“Our time has come!”