Picking Up Roots

Evening Walk

the mix of pebbles
dirt and sand
crunches beneath my feet,

from somewhere beyond
the thin, aged pines
a gull cries
as it soars
out over the bay,

the air
of evening’s gloaming
is calm and cool
upon my skin

the scent of dewey green
consumes me
and I am transported
to the coastal summer days
of my youth;

this walk
down the lane
of memory
is perfect

Raindrops

tears from the sky
explode gently
upon the roof,

their quiet patter
the rhythmic background
that soothes us

as we drift away
into a healing
slumber

Writing

in the total dark
before the dawn

a pen glides
across a creamy page

filling the blank lines
with black blood

from the soul,
the aged wood

of the table
creaks beneath the weight

of each word,
hoping one or two

might soothe the ache
of the restless soul