Belts are sometimes used,

In ways most bemused.

Yet with time, ...

Separate,

Yet with the same roots.

A simple recipe, ...

Colors,

Waiting to create music,

Never heard before. ...

Awakening in darkness,

To morning’s silence, and

First rays of light. ...

Not all doors,

Are to be opened.

Some need admiration. ...

Cool, grey autumn days,

Aren’t so bad.

They bring back memories, ...

“Come to me,”

She whispered.

“But I know not the way,” ...

A tied-up stroller,

With nowhere to go.

What a shame, ...

Autumn has arrived.

Cold, wet, windy days.

In our little homey garden, ...

Colors of every kind,

Living openly,

In plain sight. ...

Today,

Fred ventured outside.

Vigilant, ear bent, ...

Barrels or poles.

Not exactly sure.

Yet I like them, ...

Stormy, cloudy days,

Often precede clarity,

Tranquility, beauty. ...

Cool cloudy days,

Are beautiful,

Even breathtaking. ...

Behind erected walls,

Deep inside the dark,

In a heap of doubt, ...

At the end,

It’s the small,

Caring gestures, ...

Gifts,

Come in many forms.

Wrapped in silk, ...

A rainbow of colors,

As the sun sets,

And the sky, ...

Bare walls,

Unoccupied chairs,

An empty space. ...

A setting sun,

With patches of life,

Painted on the ground. ...