Photo dried grass

I’m new here and this is my first try. I have things I’d like to discuss, ideas that might be interesting, thoughts about all sorts of things that have happened, are happening and might happen. I’ve lived a bit longer than average and I need a place to put down some of the events of my life and make some kind of sense of it all. Perhaps this is the place.


I do not argue with the wind
And rain may wet me if it must.
Random events leave me chagrined.
There’s not much more to be discussed.

Time passes and bestows its blows
With little logic, not much sense.
The unexpected comes and goes
Bereft of most intelligence.

My weapon is to be aware,
To face into the winds of chance,
To try to see what’s lurking there
And brace my legs in happen stance.



Mountains there are
To tooth the horizon,
And lakes to trap the sky
In between the forests.
There is no destination,
Only the push to go,
To mingle into strangeness,
Run a finger over rough rock,
Test the strength of a vine,
Watch the sway of tall trees
Against the steady slide of clouds.
Bright green smells of grass breeze by
And birds shoot sharp whistle darts.
Surprises erupt. A rabbit sprints,
A raccoon scuttles, a snake
Like liquid mercury flows around rocks,
Through stalks to vanish
Like a beautiful elusive idea.
Through there the future lies.
Maybe bears, perhaps wildcats.
No dragons, hippogriffs, nor dinosaurs.
No epiphanies with angels, elves, nor green men
Snooping out of flying saucers.
I can still walk, climb, smell,
See even tiny leaves on mosses,
Spot the industry of ants, watch flies hover,
Delight in the colored stars of tiny blooms,
Be startled by the blast of sunlit diamonds
On a dew beaded spider web.
Ahead may be chasms and rivers
And perhaps, at the end,
A reward of the broad forehead of the sea.
There goes a black and yellow striped butterfly,
A Tinkerbell amongst the trees.

Here we go.