Pale pinks and lavenders
In the snowy evening sky
Leaving shadows of
Brillance
On the.snow covered
Ground

Dandelion sky
Full of awesomeness to grasp
But too high to reach

Homes and trees in snow

lone figure walks with pet-dogs

wife looks through window

My Love (Writing)
Writing is my love that
never betrays.
It doesn't lie or
cheat.
It never complains that I
leave the toilet seat up or
that I left hairs in the sink.
It has never said, "You drink too much or
not enough." It always wins the bets,
sets the sun and skins the cat.
It's always raw and never
well done—medium rare at
worst, and never burnt.
It doesn't ask me to
do aerobics or yoga, and it
would never tell me to quit smoking;
I would stake my life on it.
Writing is my love that
will be with me until
the end.

is this
what it feels like
to be a fossil
in the making?
to have pebbles,
sand and grit
swept slowly
on top of me.
not to mention
the crushing
and deafening
of miles of water
pressing it all down
to bury me.

but sometimes
sometimes there's
relief and light
when someone
digs through the
weight to reveal
the shadow of the
creature that once
lay there.
but then that husk
is reduced to
cinders in a mountain
of others.
and i guess you could say
that 'power station'
is adulthood.
or life.

I'm intoxicated by
The sound of geese
Flying over a sky
Of grey
Honking loud and
Strong
Echoing their happiness
Throughout the universe
I'm entranced by
The formation of geese
Now forming a vee
The freedom.they have
The grace they share
In flight
I'm grateful for the
Sound and flight
The movement I feel
As they pass over
My head
And leave me
In awe
As I wondrously
Stare at.
The sky