I am clutter.

I am clutter.  I am stuff.  I collect things. I feel good when I see a trinket that my mom and dad brought me, back in 1970-whatever from some place they were visiting.  They have travelled all over the world and brought something back for us girls each time.   I look at these things…

why must winter come? (a poem)

why must winter come? it’s fall and yet i walk about the yard in shorts, constantly aware of the heat.  cool enough.  gorgeous leaves, made of reds, yellows, browns chewed into smaller pieces, set aside for the spring.  the grass is still green and growing, fighting.   for it has something more to show for itself.  as…