If I could . . .

I'd sit you down in a comfy chair with your favorite book and a view of the pond out back.

I'd crack a window to fill your ears with nature --

the rustle of russet leaves,

the CAW of a solitary crow--

and light a crackling fire.

I'd serve you a warm piece of...

 After days and days of dreary drizzle, the bluest of a blue sky dazzled against the glistening golds . . .

and cinnamon swirls of autumn. 

I walked with my sparkly-eyed dog to the creek to visit an old friend.

Leaning into the familiar embrace of the towering oak behind...

A good writer reaches into another's heart and paints.

Focus on the little things . . .

and they will become big.

 Peace to you, my friends.

        When I was in college, my esteemed English professor read an essay written by one of her students aloud to the

class. Though she did not mention the author's name, I immediately recognized my words.

        Panic set in.


 Pitter. Patter.

"Peter. Peter."

Raindrops fall upon my feeder.

Lightning cracks.

Thunder rolls.

No more "Peter" on my feeder. 

Titmouse hides in hole in cedar.

On the loom of twilight's hush, I'll weave a waltz of words.

A bullfrog bellows out the bass:

Mmm . . . . . Mmm . . . . . Mmm.

A cricket chirps the chords, all in 3/4's time:


A grouse adds the drum with a whirr of wings:


 I'd gladly eat bugs to swoop . . . 

and soar like a swallow . . .

 over fields of flowers.

Isn't it incredible that we live under a sky this blue with creatures this beautiful?

Think about it.

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