In the quietest hours of the night Unbidden, she opens her eyes Half awake, half asleep, One foot still within the world of dreams She hears the echoes On these four walls, Here and now – Life calls. She untangles herself from The sheets, half dressed and with Barefoot feet. She steps out into the
She was fascinated with words. To her, words were things of beauty, each like a magical powder or potion that could be combined with other words to create powerful spells. ~ Dean Koontz I have been a lover of words ever since I can remember. In truth, I cannot recall a time when words
She tiptoes across The living room floor Remembering the dance That once was and Is no more Longing to let the music Carry her away Wistfully, quietly, Her heart begins to sway As soft as the flickering Candle light The music begins to shine From her eyes A tentative step forward And backward she goes
A million times each day I go from…What agony it is to carry this weightTo…What a privilege it is to simply be alive today
Today the birds are a little quieter I hear only one lonely quiet chirp Where just a few short weeks ago there was a loud chorus. Gone now are the speedways between our hummingbird feeder and our neighbors. The breeze is much too cool to sit for long without a sweater and the leaves now
How can I possibly sleep – When the night is so pristine? And all the incessant voices of the day Have now been cleansed from me How can I possibly sleep In this solitude … so serene When all I want is to bathe In the magic of this silent stream.
