Introspection;
A journey of self-discovery,
that should never end.

Change, embrace it!
It's you knocking on the door
of new opportunities.

In My Yard,
They stand barren, starkly naked,
Silhouetted against the winter sky,
Their white spines moving,
In February gale winds,
Traces of icy snow,
Still clinging here and there.

I have watched them,
For going on seven years,
Planted with my own hands,
Where they proudly stand,
Looking so cold and alone.
Their intertwining branches,
Appearing to reach out,
To each other,
For mutual support.
A natural latticework of beauty.

I have measured my own seasons
By their natural progress of change,
Winter being the saddest one.
Yet an hour ago draped in snow
Still they looked so splendid.

They endure, rooted there,
Waiting for the warming,
Seasonal change,
The return of life renewing Spring,
Buds to blooms, to small green leaves
That dance and ripple in the wind,
As if showing off just for me.

A roost for passing song birds,
Shade from summer heat.

In Fall they display splashes of color
Branches and flowing leaves in motion,
A rustling vibrating, audible hum of green,
And later golden colors turning,
Tiny banners beating like sparkling jewels,
In the sun and blowing breezes.

Never tiring to look upon.
To all my human senses,
Always so very pleasing,
These my Quaking Aspen Trees.

On Knees, was taught to prey.
The concept of religion,
Learned as a small child,
Later replaced with actual knowledge.
Discovering then that,
The “Soul” of Bible Talk,
Does indeed exist,
Within all we humans.
Neurons, tangled nerves of
Electric arc, impulses sent
And received, thoughts formulated,
Visions seen, recalled all in an instant.
Memories cataloged and stored.
The original Grey Matter Computer,
Our Humanity the result of all this,
Wondrous, remarkable activity.
Love, Thought, Empathy, Kindness,
Knowing Right from wrong,
Rational Reasoning, Humor,
Ingenuity, Creativity, Forgiveness
When needed.  Pride exceeded.

Yes, we have a soul, it lives within
Our Human Intelligence,
And all the abilities it affords us.
Without this Brain, this our Soul *****,
The body, our very existence is nothing.

I knew you then,
Yes by sight, little more,
Strangers on a common ground.
Children in the same town.
Exchanging appraising glances,
Given and quickly shed,
Reduced to but a few,
Written words in our Year Books,
No time for more.

An all too brief encounter on a train,
Sweet kisses given and accepted.
Then total disappearance,
For fifty long years.

Separate lives lived,
Marriages come and gone,
Beloved children, Grand children born.
Some bumpy roads traveled,
Individual journeys taken,
Knowledge and maturity hard earned.

After all that time and distance,
Fate returned us to each other.
Happenstance some might say,
Something much more, my answer.
In a room filled with many people,
We two magnetically drawn together.

Second chances almost never come,
Yet it seems we have found one.
Laughter like I've never known,
It almost seems incredible,
All this profound happiness,
You have brought me,
When perhaps we both thought,
Those days and emotions dead.
Now I feel so young, all over again,
As if 50 years had never been.

What is it that causes me to smile
for no apparent reason?
To feel my heart occasionally skip a beat?
To be so much happier than I used to be?
To sing when there is no music?
To regard tomorrow with such promise?
To feel so **** young again?
Like a kid still in High School.

Outwardly to those that know me,
There is no visible reason for all of this,
They might even begin to question my sanity,
Just a little bit.

Only you and I know the reasons,
That Love is in the air,
This rarefied air we are both breathing and sharing.

Scant moments after sun rise they appear,
Shadows in a distant field,
Moving like ghosts upon a sea,
Of shimmering dewy green.
They toil, bent onto their work,
No music, no joyful banter,
Only their laboring breaths,
Visible in the morning air.

An aged tractor crawls along,
Out in front of them,
They stoop and toss yellow squash,
Into a trailer bin.

Fifty acres by Noon they're told,
"Get it done, or get gone by Ten!"
"No Medical Insurance here,
No Retirement Plan,
No promises or guaranties,
It's work for the moment,
Only if WE please."
Yells out the Overseer!

Noon brings the heat,
Another fifty acres of zucchini.
Nothing changes,
Not even the scenery.
Hats and hoods,
Long sleeves and scarves,
Shield from the sun,
Yet the new heat they must endure.

Still they stoop and toss,
With ****** hands and painful spines.
"Get it done today or no work for you tomorrow.
Don't get hurt there ain't no Workman's Comp."
They are often reminded.

I watch and read a book upon my shady porch,
My promenade to the world.
Morning coffee giving way,
To the afternoon's ice cold Lemonade.
I observe from my distant knoll,
Like a unfettered bird in the sky,
Being detached and alone.
As if I and the people in the field,
Reside on different worlds.

I sit there in my orb with soft hands and body,
The products of a privileged life being a Native Son.
I worked in three piece suits, shirt and ties,
An education, crafty sales ability, my convenient alibis.

They come from the South,
From poverty and dead ends,
A border or two away,  
Do the work that only slaves would do,
Back in yesterday.
To put food on our tables,
Grease the wheels of our industries.
Put some meager food in their mouths,
and fuel their fantasy's.
Most do not speak our language,
Yet still our life they crave.
We do not welcome them as we should,
They must sneak in like thieves in the night,
Just to be our willing serfs.

What real difference them to me?
Geographic locations of birth, little more.
That's not really hard to see,
If only we stop and care to look.

A ****** to their hardship,
I watch humbled and inspired,
This display of their commitment,
Their indomitable human spirit.

The hours pass and still they follow,
Up and back crossing the field,
Chasing that same tractor,
Walking miles, going no place at all.

While I've done other things this day,
Leisure, cardio stationary bike,
(No need to take a hike.)
Intellectual stimulation enjoyed,
Eaten twice and rested well.
But not those men and women across the way,
They now merely indistinct bent shapes,
Upon, an ever darkening landscape,
Smudges of smoldering black,
In a vast field of breeze tossed olive drab.

Dawn to dusk being their fate,
Their tomorrows all the same.
Hard work and a willingness to do it,
Their passports, to "Possibility",
and for staying in the game.