Local events,

Are special.

People walking by, …

Tranquility arrived,

When I felt special,

Without any need, …

How many times,

I felt knocked down,

Only later to realize, …

It is nice to see,

Traditions linger in time.

Even handwritten menus, …

Pen in hand,

Letters,

I still write. …

It is in the quiet,

Of backstreet alley,

Where treasures, …

When I cannot go left,

Or right,

I no longer plough ahead, …

Today I look back,

On the years,

Through streets I strolled, …

Still I stood,

Gazing at the clouds,

Reflecting back, …

A kind thought,

Perhaps a smile,

Or a blooming flower. …

It never ceases to amaze,

Discovering new baggage,

Subconsciously chosen, …

Getting old,

Is not concerning.

It is the sadness, …

Magic can be found,

In the present,

Or the past. …

Looking back,

At memories that rewind,

I am surprised, …

To fit seamlessly,

Within my surrounding,

Was seldom easy. …

Curious yet unafraid,

The lamas drew near,

As they walked by. …

To open up,

Let the world see,

Who I am, …

To live in the mountains,

A village or by a lake.

A seeming quandary, …

I like to watch birds,

Land on the ledge,

Flap their wings, …

Colorful flowers,

Adorning balconies,

Are pleasing and inviting. …