Sunday the end of an uninteresting week.

Or is it the beginning of something totally

wonderful, Ashley did turn 28 this past week

Me I turned in circles which is nothing new.

It feels like a weekend to get lost in the songs

of Harry Chapin and Billy Joel

Spring morning

Upon a hill

Cool wet grass at my back

...

Cotton white tendrils

trace the sky

Memory remnants

of winters snow

...

Distant trees beckon

crow in flight

Geese call from unseen lake

Stray ant tickles

hair on back of hand

Scent of cut grass

floats on the morning breeze

...

From mountains pull

to oceans song

My body is open

to all that is

...

The soul touches

what the mind

does not understand

ccd 2010

Sunday night and again I have no idea of what to write I just found my desk top after a cleaning. Went to Erie today, stopped at Eric's on the way home both he and Paula are looking healthy. This means they have both lost considerable weight. Understandable with the cancer their daughter is fighting. Lydia is holding her own with the treatments, She has to do the chemotherapy through August. It is said God looks after fools and children I hope I am not keeping to much of his attention focused on me. Lydia needs his touch more.

She is a dream with in a dream. Her own path she has to

travel. To young I think for a burden to carry, and yet the

angles are there helping carry her load.

The strength of man is in his faith.

When Lydia reaches my age she will understand this poem.

Path of Dreams

..

In bare feet and tattered cloth

upon this path I stand

..

Dreams of spring in lovers hearts

Dreams of life in warriors heart

Dreams in ring on brides finger

Until I pass

No dream for treas in winters slumber

..

Dreams of life in mothers womb

With sleep brushed away

at mothers gentle caress

Rose, lilac, cinnamon, ginger

Mothers scent is the morning breeze

..

Dreams planted in farmers furrow

by dads callused hands

..

Dreams from artificers breath

breaks the dawn in molten glass

At morning light

cold night shadows flee

..

Leaning on staff

of oak tree bone

Knees bent, back is stooped

I stare in awe as shadows fly

..

Dreams of trees are seasons past

Thorny vine and shattered glass,

sharp rock, twisted root,

immovable boulder

to get where is stand upon my path,

I had to pass

Dreams of hope on the morrow

I face the path I have yet to travel

Smooth and soft it looks to be

And yet among blades of soft

grass, just a hint of

root, stone,and gravel

..

My feet,

bare, tired, and sore

scared and bruised

I know will carry me more.

..

Leaning on trees bone

sigh of breath, creek of knee

I take one step forward...

then one more

..

No one dreams of sorrow

There is only the ache

for what if, yesteryear,

and tomorrow

..

Another step

I leave a dream for the

trees

once more

ccd

Sunday evening and not a clue what to write It is one of those days I can not wake up. Masters golf tournament was this week takes me for a walk down memory lane I have never been to the Augusta National Golf course. It is open during the practice rounds to the general public for a minor fee. I lived in Augusta from 1969 up to 1991. A 29 minute drive across town I could have gone Nope not a fool. (I may act it...) That side of town is crazy this time of year. I do not know what it is like now. Spring in Augusta was beautiful Magnolias, roses, clear skies, A laid back attitude of welcome leading into summer. Summer days that stretch into tomorrow. Walking railroad ties to see where the rails go. Following creeks to find the source. I am still waking still looking still seeking. Since my mind is taking me down memory lane I found a poem I wrote some time back

The Wine of Our Youth

..

Corner shelf darkened closet

Dusty bottle stands alone

..

Cork pulled to ghostly memories

No drop to sip

Youths fragrant wine

In the heart

..

Thunderstorms and summer days

Winter dreams, frozen hearts

Scent of youth long flown from limb

..

Wines flavor

Life bottled

in the soul

ccd

I had to make a second post today

This is a picture of a tree long dead

and trimmed back. It sits between my

house and the neighbors house.

Years ago I wrote poem about the

swing that hangs from this tree.

I will probably post that at the end

of summer. This blog is for something else. Take note of the curving branch

over the house. The branch is

a good 10 feet above the roof of

my 2 story home.

Now the lower

is a close up of that branch.

No one climbed the tree and

placed it there. The picture is not

photo shopped.

So on this Easter Sunday Blessings to all

Read both blogs and enjoy the poem

Note to self: exercise....exercise ....exercise... three months of standing in front of a cash register is not exercise. Found out today how weak the arms are with some yard work. Sunday Easter day. A point between death and life winter and spring. If you spent the day outside and paid attention to all going on around you; you would have noticed a quiet day. The sounds of human activity subdued The grass is getting greener, trees are starting to open buds for leaves. Birds were singing but their voices were muted. The sun was shining and warm The wind was cool. Spring is here but still in its waking stage. When did spring start? Yesterday? Last night? Last month? or was it just yesteryear? When ever it was I saw it.

Spring Awakens

In Mountain valley

A pine does stand

cloaked in white

Roots burried deep

in mountain past

Orange burst

burns the night

Eagle leaps for

crystal skies

Feels the change

Feels the heat

In silent glide

it sees the diamond

in morning light

Pure of heart

it frees a call

from primal soul

The bond is broken

From pine tree needle

the diamond falls

First drop of water

starts it all

ccd

Easter day 2010