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. ...

Growing up alone,

Was hard.

Guitar, melancholy songs, ...

Perspective matters.

For many years,

Other points of view,...

Things I can’t see,

Yet rather believe exist.

Just there, ...

In younger days,

I likewise wanted,

To leave something behind. ...

I find it curious,

And rather inexplicable,

That even inanimate objects, ...

A happy flower,

Or a friendly,

Ten-eyed beast. ...

Growing up,

I was taught to climb.

Stairs, trees, mountains, ...

If we were all,

Meant to look,

And feel the same, ...