October in Stockbridge
A New England reflection We came where Berkshire whispers dwell, To walk the streets where silence fell On painted doors and windowpanes, Where autumn’s breath through white walls strains.
At the Berkshire Garden
Morning opened in Albany - the city stretching itself awake, lights blinking off along the Hudson, a heron lifting from the shallows. Coffee steamed the car’s small interior as we turned east,
At Authors’ Ridge - 2024
For The Steady One We came not just to walk, but remember... Past Concord’s hush, past pine and ember - Where word and wind and granite sleep, And roots hold secrets buried deep. No fanfare marked the path we chose - Just lichen bloom on aging rows, And leaves like letters overhead That whispered names we’d long since read.
The Drowned Valley
A Poetic Meditation on the Old Stone Church , West Boylston , Massachusetts The creation of a thousand forests is in one acorn. - Ralph Waldo Emerson , Essays: Nature There are places the world forgets, and others it keeps remembering for us. The Old Stone Church in West Boylston is one of the latter.
