Regardless of what the trail is made of,
it connects us to the earth,
guides us through the forest,
allows us to be within.

In the stationary silence
I seek answers that already
lie at me feet.

I look for skies that already
fill my vision.

And I seek truth to my purpose
that has played out for hundreds of years.

What hands move the pieces in this universe?
What hands guide the universes along the surface
of the vast oceans and between each grain of sand?

Looking at the calendar, over a month has passed since my last post here. Where does the time go? I would like to say that I was in the midst of some grand adventure, but that would not be true! Life. Just life happening, and dealing with the daily grind, the obligations, and the 9-to-5. It can be a challenge to keep grounded and your head above the water. Venturing further into my 40s, I am becoming more aware of this struggle, and questions of what next.  What do I want the next chapter in life to look like, what story will it tell?

At the end of each day, what keeps me sane and going, are these 2 goofballs, and all their antics, barking, and playtime.

Standing on the front porch
I watch the sun rise over the

distant mountains and first light
run across the empty fields.

Morning wind pushes scattered stalks and coffee steam
while bird songs emerge from the tree line.

High bulbous clouds assume many colors
as the sun reaches higher.

Leroy lays at my side sleeping
as we watch night become the day.

Spring has filled in the once barren forest
and we witness the green waves rolling
toward the blue horizon.

What we have spans time,
existing without place,
breathing with each ray of light,
captured in morning waves.

Driving north this May
an early summer and the windows are closed
as the heat presses against skin
and our eyes squint.

Green farmlands with waiting tractors,
fields holding grazing cows,
red barns and white houses,
silos scattered across the horizon.

What is this life outside the window
from another time long gone
except memories anchored in places
my feet have not walked upon?

Becoming tired from the heat
yet restless from the nostalgia
I take your hand and am thankful for now
while searching for my past.