From Time to Time . . .

There is this really old, really big tree I like to go and spend time with. It provides a circle of shade which is at least 50 feet across and at the base of this tree is an iron bench. Sometimes I'll sit and study Robert Frost . . . sometimes I'll just sit with a pad and pen, hoping something comes to me. One day last summer I was under this tree with my eyes closed and I must have dozed off. I awoke when a short breeze blew across my face and with it this entire little poem. It was literally written on the wind.

From Time to Time . . .

A gentle breeze
across my face
returns me
from a distant place,
where drifting thoughts
this summer day
carry me
from time to time . . .

The Light Within . . .