I thought I saw your face in the shop window, But it must have been a trick of the light. When I turned, there was no one there Just an empty street in an empty night.

The house is quiet, the world is dark And my thoughts stray far from their intended mark. My mind wanders back to places I’ve been And I wonder, in light of today, should I have been happier then? The river glides, and flows and flows, But does it choose down which path it goes? We think of intent, and want, and worry, What happens when we stop and cease to hurry? Maybe the trees have it right: Staying in one spot — growing towards the light.

The rustle of leaves on a cold day, The air heavy with blue winter-light. The moon dancing on tree branches, Reflected in the darkness of the lake-night. The heavy sigh of an old house, Settling, settling, heavy with life. The light plays down the passageway, Sliding over the window-sill, Trailing white light through a crack in the curtain, Slinking through a slit in the window-shade. And I think: Someday, she’ll be gone. When that time comes, The light and the window-sill, the curtain and the passageway Will all remain. And I’ll stay, for a little while.. I’ll stay.

In sun and light, I saw you walking there Along the line of trees where the river runs. The grass was high, yellowed by the sun. You waved, laughed, and turned to run (How good it was to see you run!) I made to move but the ground was mud. I stood in darkness, beyond the light, Standing alone in the dark’ning night. You sat in the shade beneath a tree, And laughed at me. You smiled and stood, pointing: Across the river, to the farther field, the further shores. I made to follow. Smiling, you said: “My time has come, not yours.”

Fall has always been my favorite season, one of remembrance, and of renewal. The very aspects that lend it beauty, the changing and dying of the leaves, the long rays of light as the sun slants towards its winter home, remind us of the cycles of the world, of the…

Meeting a new person is like visiting a new place, moving to a new city. At first, you see the landmarks, the places where everyone goes, the major roads and thoroughfares. You recognize their beauty, their intelligence, their kindness and elegance — perhaps you learn they’re well-read and like the…

I walked and watched the evening star rise In the turquoise half-light As the sun cast its last rays Against the ceiling of the sky. And I went and bought a beer, and drank it, On the half-bench, in the half-space I’ve found Where I can reflect on the emptiness of our times. And halfway through this beer, halfway through this life, I wonder how I should spend my time, In what half-spaces I might find Some sort of meaning greater Than just this life of mine.

There is a point in this when we realize That history did not stop when we were born. Though we are each unique, We are not so different than any who came before. Like each raindrop that falls, and flows, and searches for the sea, We wonder: What will this world do with me? Perhaps we’ll nod our heads, and turn and look at the titles of the books on our shelves And think “Well, we’re better off than they were!” But that seems silly, flippant, somehow untoward. It’s easy when the story is over, the book is closed, the names all lie within. But when it’s here and it’s real and we feel the fear? What do we do then? Listen to the rain, and give thanks to our friends, And help build towards the day when all of this ends.

As the sun in the morning pulls itself into the sky, The sounds of bird-song and the scraping of a squirrel ascending a tree, Remind us that we’re back here again, Where we’ve always been. As the sun in the evening-time sinks below the swell, The sounds of the waves washing against the seawall, Remind us that the waters will flow forever onwards, Their ripples wending their way around the world, Without us.