May the morning dew glisten gold, the noon shadows cool green, and the evening sky bring vibrant autumn hues.
May a gentle breeze stir pleasant memories in your soul
May the voice of a friend bring you laughter
May a casual thought spark a debate with a kindred spirit
May you hear hope in the voice of someone in need
May you see peace in the faces of many
May a child sing you a melody that touches your heart
May you touch the face of a loved one and share the warmth of holding hands

Celebrate the beauty of the world and the friends and family that love you.

The tree once strong that shaded us,
Fell from life a year ago.
Yet now the substance that held it tall
Still burns brightly warming our heart and souls.
The seed nurtured in good soil has spread far and wide -
The stature and strength reflected in our roots, timber, and seed.
Peace, my father. The fish await you. Until we meet once again, peace.

Glacier National Park, Lower Quartz Lake
Wednesday August 12, 2015 Day 1 of the backpacking trek.

Our tent next to the still waters.
Eventide respite.
Deborah reflecting in solitude at sunset.
Quiet with a gentle breath of mountain air.
Without an updraft to soar and glide upon, the eagle, nesting in the range of the watershed, has retired for the day.
A pair of Common Loons and four Hooded Merganser prepare for the nights cooling, moving in the glossy water toward their rest, gentle lines tracing as the water crests and falls behind.
Black swifts emerge from the shadows, dancing near the lake to feed on twilight insects.
The orange sky and red orb of Sol are a prelude to a multitude of stars as the world turns into darkness.

Cool are the streets before sunrise
I pedal my daily route through downtown Kalamazoo
Past the Art Institute and Civic
And out through Riverfront Park on the Valley Trail

Across the river on M96 I head east toward sunrise
The road is slightly dampened by the dew
And the trees on each side of the highway stand tall
Framing the sun as I make the first curve slightly east-north-east

In symmetry, the sun lies between the trees
Above the road, floating round, brilliant
Just inside the zone of a photographer's eye
The sun, the road, the trees, the mist – all ablaze in orange.

A dangerous time to ride so close to traffic
The lenses of my glasses scatter the light in condensation
I pedal hard to pass through this section
And ride into Galesburg stopping at the lights

Passing through town out Michigan Ave
I cross the Kalamazoo River but stop for a moment in stride
As the cold air nudges swirls of fog to dance on the surface
Lit from behind by the rising sun, golden, quiet, ghostly into the distance

Out onto my last few miles where the road is rough
It climbs out of the river valley up two hundred feet
Into winding country roads away from most traffic
And closer to the farms and woods

The air is now heavy with the dampness of the woods
There is only the breeze I bring with me
I crest a hill after a long climb but I do not coast on the slight reprieve
As there is new and old roadkill serviced by carrion birds in the mist

I am at my destination on another beautiful morning and I think
What wonders have I seen that my peers miss in their race on the highway
What smells of wild garlic, split oak, and musk of raccoon, skunk, and possum, and sweat
What satisfaction I have as I shower off the cold, and insects, and ride from my skin

August 20, 2013
Kalamazoo, MI

Waiting
A boiled egg
A cold piece of toast
Butter spread dry
An empty spot
At the table
Wanting

Coffee
No steam
Trails from the rim
The cup sits
Nearby
Black
Froth long
Gone

Stares
Out the window
The trees bare
The frost thick
On the lawn
Cut one last time before
Winter

Alone
Waiting to start
Her day
She sits
Silent
Anxious

Rising
She smiles
And calls as I start
Down the Stairs
“A cooked boiled egg!”
“A cold piece of toast!”
“My own fault, sorry!”
I say
“Dawdling today, Love.”
And
“Thanks”

Off
She danced
Barefoot
On the wind
With the wind
In her face
She danced

Barefoot
To the tape
In the race
With her friends
She danced
Barefoot
In the wind

On her face
The joy
Of the race
Of the run
The ecstasy
Of the wind
On her face

Barefoot
The race
The run
The wind
In her lungs
On her face
In her hair
Barefoot
She danced
To the tape

Before dawn I ride through dimly lit streets
Mid-September and the air is cool and damp
Students wait at the bus stop – some talk, some text

The moon, in the last sliver, courts Venus
Together they drift as if hand-in-hand while clouds slip quietly past
Ghostly with gray shadows

Cross-town Parkway to Kings Highway
The sounds of industry growl
The River Valley Trail
Pulls me from the road

Along the Kalamazoo River, the fog creeps across fields
The sun’s first rays warm the sky
On the river, mist swirls as dawn approaches, gold threads twisting upward

Near Galesburg, another commuter joins me
The conversation makes the trip a bit shorter
The rooster crows twice this morning as we ride past

The last stretch along L-Avenue through quiet woods and fields
Glimpse a deer or a coyote, a rabbit, or an owl
As we climb the final hill of our ride
The mist billows incandescent in the sunlight