Lites and White Paint

Like tears from crying . . .

I am sitting at an open window, a lite breeze skimming over my skin. Outside the window a gentle, steady rain is falling. The rain is pulling from the earth a smell of spring dirt and wet pine needles. There is the fuzzy sound of droplets bouncing off the grass, off the fence, off the house. As the trees sway in the gentle wind, a new layer combines with the rest to create a thicker cushion of sound.

There is something to be said for the calming nature of rain, the soothing effect it has on my mind, my soul and my brain.
Like tears from crying, there is a release in the falling of rain, the accumulation and purging of precipitation.

I am grateful for this rain, for the comfort, calm and peace I find in its drops.

Mis sobrinos

My Mind in a Rhyme

My personal tragedy.

It seems to be, at least with me,
illusion is more fulfilling than reality.
This concept you see, a taste of me,
can satisfy your gut more than my entirety.


Change is the only true constant in life.

Like the sapling, I try to bend with pressure, sway in the breeze and keep my roots planted while the rest only strips my leaves.

Anticipation: