featherd friends friday

my how they have grown, they're in that awkward stage
between the fluff and feathers, before they come of age

wag your tail, it's wednesday

three hot dogs

stay where they are told

you know with all that fur

they wish that it was cold

my Gifts

today

i feel God

calling me,

to be

the Real me

i'm to be,

to be Gentle

and Embrace,

my Quirks

and Gifts,

my Time,

and Place.

to Boldly do,

all that i can,

to Accept,

and Understand,

this Gifted,

Blessed,

Life i'm living,

to be Loving,

and be Giving,

to Create,

and to Nurture,

to Celebrate,

and Discover.

Oh, what a gift!

that i can see

all of this!

he's given me

flowering fridays

wag your tail, it's wednesday

wag your tail,

it's wednesday,

do a little dance,

smile your biggest smile,

take a little chance.

wag your tail,

it's wednesday,

go out for a walk,

get a little exercise,

call a friend and talk.

wag your tail,

it's wednesday,

make it really count,

life lived to the fullest,

that's what it's all about.

beach thoughts

clear water washes across my feet,

cooling them, and then retreats,

ibis, sanderlings, pelicans,

couples walking, holding hands,

happy children laugh and play.

lovers kiss, we look away,

fat and thin, with little clothes,

our mortal bodies are exposed,

wrinkles, lumps, and sagging skin,

suntanned teens, and hairy men,

we are discreet, and even sly,

as we look, when they walk by,

some are fit, and some are frail,

needing help as bodies fail,

so much of life is passing by,

we cannot stop it,

though we try,

our time for outward beauty goes,

yet we love warm sand on our toes.

and even though, our looks are gone

on the beach, we still belong

nature's noises

our windows are open,

i've got one thing to say,

nature is noisy,

"oy vey!"

what's with the frogs,

they don't take a break,

they sing day and night,

and keep me awake!

When the geese first returned,

they filled me with awe,

now when they honk,

i say, "uff da!"

finches that twitter,

blackbirds that trill,

the sound of a killdeer,

strikes me as shrill.

but saturday mornings.

those sounds all withdraw.

outsung by lawn mowers.

"ay carumba!"