Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree

I have come to the conclusion that there isn’t one.

I have come to the conclusion that there isn’t one.

My wanderings,
whether night dreams
of familiar faces
or morning walks
in a new neighborhood,
always seem to lead
me in a circle.

I enter
the cul-de-sac
and return the
way I have come,
still talking to the sky,
whispering the same prayers
past the aspen groves,
my longings like the
silver leaves
glistening in the wind.

Yet somehow
on the journey,
a small something
has been made
in me.

July 8, 2019

Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree

Lost, But Not Really

wp-1467825903751.jpgOnce you were hesitant and you decided to go further this time through the woods on a myriad of meandering trails until you are lost, though not really, only far away from where you began.

Down below by the river, the realization grows that this is not the direction you thought you were heading. The land is unfamiliar and you no longer know where you fit in the geography.

You stop. You turn around. You find your way back. The journey longer than you thought. Its substance unexpected.

You took courage. You began. The circle has come round again. And somehow, someway, something has been made complete in you.


Posted in The Sunday Driver: Life in the Slow Lane



Life is . . .
finding a precious coin on the sidewalk,
blissfully unaware that it is the same one you lost
so very long ago.


life is a series of circles


life is a series of circles
this is another bend for me
today I return again
to what I have yet to see

Journal Entry July 21, 1996