I am a Traveller on a journey with no beginning or end

I am a Traveller who seeks new experiences with Family and Friend

I am a Traveller who likes to write about what she sees, how I view the world of course is uniquely me

I am a Traveller and set my compass to my next destination, plan my trip from A to B leaving room for spontaneity

I am a Traveller seeking out what I know, historic places, jewels in the Crown, maybe stumble across some old parts of town

I am a Traveller who loves to meet locals, sitting at a bar or restaurant, friendly chit-chat reveals a hidden treasure I would surely have missed if not for the local gossip

I am a Traveller I travel by plane, car, train and sea, there is no limit to the places I wish to visit and see

I am a Traveller who records everything I do and see by Pen and Photography

I am a Traveller with my husband by my side, we will travel until we can travel no more

I am a Traveller until the day I die and one last trip to the cosmic sky

I pine for,
     crescent moons
     and star-peppered skies.

I notice and hear,
     swaying silhouettes
     and whistling night breezes.

I anticipate,
     the expiring hours
     and dew-scented earth.

I only exist in,
     extended silences
     and shattered lenses.

.

Love is letting them wear your fuzzy socks because their feet are cold.
Love is going to get ice cream at 3:00 in the morning because they had a craving for a hot fudge sundae.
Love is making sure all of the blanket are even before you get into bed because they can't sleep if they're not.
Love is sleeping with the fan on even though you hate the noise.
Love is watching the same TV show with them even though they've watched it a million times.
Love is falling asleep to the sound of their snoring.
Love is waking up to their messy hair and naked face and still thinking they're the most beautiful person in the world.
Love is when being with that person feels like coming home.
Love is being someone's home.

Wandering through the woods,
The colors of the world become engulfed in the snow.
The once colorful world becomes more simple, near black
    and white.
The simplicity of the world makes the answers to the world
    seem just in grasp,
But then I look up and the sky is a mirage of colors as the sun
     rises.

The simplicity that once I believed in melted as I gaze at the
     mornings beauty.
For the world is never easy, even if it appears that way.
Remember to look up at the sky and remember there is
     always color.

he rises early, well before the premature, minutest hints of early dawn,
cradling tenderized words, from a silent marinating mind withdrawn,
some spices harvested from the soil's mortality of daily strife, others,
manna gifts of wild floral tenderness, plucked from Eve's tree of life

neither gardener nor chef, the fruits of his labor, are product of
a mothers mind's silent back labor, emerging with no notice or invitation, spilt from lips unmoving, eyes shuttered, fingers ungloved
ministering a Temple sacrifice of plain psalms authored but un-titled

some spark ignition causes a key reversal, from motionless to motion,
moving with no in-between, words simmering, from seeds unknown,
the dishe's integrity questioned, but it births itself, uncaring, eagerly, willing copied from cavern decorations of rude, wall drawings

almost fully formed, though untasted and undigested, a savant smell
provokes a leap from placid prone, to upright and seated upon the
throne of his writing desk, can one* *divine a recipe from odor alone,
thus claiming authorship of an untitled dish, one that can't be recreated?

sets it down before you uncovered, with a lustrous screen of silk damask,
plated on Royal Worcester fine bone china, yet, without any utensils,
asking you to ken this work,
*eat this poem, with bare hands,
love it as if it was your own first born,
consumed/consuming
a strange but familiar spirit

and i,
being the broken
toy soldier.
a book
with cracked spine,
still wait.

someone
must have
some glue.

There was once a man
Who looked at the moon and asked
"Is there anything I could ask,
that you can answer?"
There was no reply,
as expected.

The next morning, there was a dog.
The man crouched down
in front of the dog and asked
"What are you up to today?"
The dog walked past,
as expected.

In the afternoon, there was a girl.
She was sitting on a bench in the park.
The man sat beside her and asked
"Are you waiting for someone?"
She kept gazing at the sunset,
as expected.

Night falls in a pub in the city.
There's a drunken man, had many bottles.
The man approached him and asked
"Is something the matter?"
The man finally collapsed after too much drinks,
as expected.

Lastly, in a room there are antiques.
One is a mirror in an intricate frame.
The man looked at the mirror and asked
"How do you feel today?"
There was no reflection,
as expected.