On my walk this morning a tiny cloud caught my eye

And I found myself stopping to watch it on its trip across the sky.


It seemed a little shaky at first…not much movement there at all…

until, encouraged by a breeze, that cloud began to crawl.


As it moved it started changing…I suppose that’s what clouds do.

And as it changed that tiny cloud…grew…and grew…and grew.


In what seemed like but a moment that cloud was fully grown

And I saw it glide across the sky…floating on its own.


Then, as quickly as it all began…sooner than expected I must say

I watched what was once a tiny cloud…quietly float away.


This is the way time works I sighed as I calmly watched it go…

For it was not the same cloud I had discovered a moment ago…


Yes this is the way time works I smiled as the sun began to glow

Knowing I was not the same man I was a moment ago.


Knowing how time can quickly change a tiny cloud on its trip across the sky…


Knowing an entire lifetime can seem to pass in the twinkling of an eye.

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Random questions from a morning walk with which I sometimes toy…

If we did not know sorrow…how could we speak of joy?


Why are we so rigid…in what we feel and pray…

When, the truth is, doesn’t every one of us change a little every day?


Was it my decision or destiny that brought me down this road?

If reincarnated would I rather be a bull frog or a toad?


Does the moon communicate with the stars? 

Do the clouds talk to the seas?

Does the wind ever stop to rest as it scampers through the trees?


How can a word like telephone be both a verb…and a noun?

Why do horses sleep standing up while we sleep lying down.


Where will my grandchildren end up?  Why do I look so funny when I dance?

Will I live to be 100?   

Will I ever get to France? 


If I had the money of a millionaire…would I try to save…or spend?

Why are my nose and ears getting bigger…will hatred ever end?


My walk is over…I’m finally home…I can rest my tired legs

The only question left for me…will I have cereal or eggs?


When questions come and go like this…it’s no use trying to mask them…

I guess I should be happy…that I’m alive to ask them.







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From the moment we’re born we are like a book…

and every day we age…who we are that day…is written on a page.


Our parents begin the writing…until such time as we are grown…

then we…pick up the pen…and begin writing on our own.


We meet many people along the way…which means everywhere we look…

we…can find them mentioned…in the pages of our book.


Some will be a footnote…mentioned briefly there or here…

crossing our paths momentarily…and then they disappear.


Others will linger on the pages…their influence reaching far…

for not only do they help write our book…they help determine who we are.


Some of our pages are filled with losses…some…are filled with wins.

This page may end a chapter…while on this page…one begins.


And though we can’t rewrite the past…once a page has bid adieu…

When we wake up the next morning…we begin to write anew.


How Wonderful!

A new story written every day…as every day life reengages…


Which means everyday it’s up to us…what happens between the pages.

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Time steals many moments of our life.

We are governed by her rules.

She tells us when to be here…or there.

She has us running around like fools.


But I wonder…when it comes to time…

have you ever given any thought…

to how, though some of this running around is necessary…

some of it…is not.


For when you slow your life down…

Oh the wonders you will see…

as you begin to take the time…

for what time is meant to be.


Time to watch the sun rise…or set… 

To marvel at how morning dewdrops gleam

To listen to the rain, the birds, the wind…

To skips stones across a stream.


Time to walk in moonlight…

to dip your fingers the sea…

to smell the fragrance of a rose…

To sit in the shade of an old oak tree


Yes, time steals many moments… 

but when they’re gone…do not forsake them…


She also gives us moments to enjoy…


It’s up to us to take them.


I had so many plans when I was just a boy…

plans that would bring me fame and wealth…happiness and joy…


I planned to be a pilot…I planned that I would fly…

up among the birds and stars…as I soared across the sky.


I planned to be a movie star…I planned to live in Hollywood.

I planned to travel around the world…making all the movies that I could.


I planned to be a football star…quarterback was my goal.

I planned to lead my team right down the field…and to the Super Bowl.


I planned to be a rock star…my music would be the rage…

people would smile and wave and call my name…as I played upon the stage.


I planned to be a doctor…and I planned never to be vain

as I cured people of their sicknesses…and eased them of their pains.


But a teacher(?), husband(?), Dad(?), and PopPop(?)…these I never planned to be…

It seems, to me, that Destiny…had other plans for me.


Yet not a day goes by that I don’t smile…softly clasp my hands…


and thank my lucky stars…to have this life I never planned.

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Three children, young girls, sitting around a campfire…

watching the flames and eating s’mores…

telling stories, and wondering about their futures…

watching their imaginations soar…


I want to be a dancer…no a doctor…and cure people of their aches…

I want to be a chef, a baker…and put icing on the cakes…


And it made me think back to when I was a boy

sitting around a campfire…eating s’mores…

telling stories, wondering about my future…

What was I wishing for?


Of course that was a long time ago…my memories are a blur…

and when I think about my wishes then…I can’t remember what the were.


If old me was to go back in time…to young me he would profess…

Wish to be a kind and gentle person…wish for happiness. 


Wish for a family who loves you…wish for a life without too much turmoil…

wish for friends who make you smile…wish for grandchildren you can spoil.


Wish to be the best person you can be…every moment you’re awake

Wish for someone to grow old with…

after all…the rest…


is just icing on the cake.

Author's Notes/Comments: 








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Every year as Winter wanes and the Spring sun illuminates the skies

from the sepia surroundings of our garden…one red tulip is the first to rise.


It is an amazing spectacle…a miracle of design

And I often think, how that little red tulip’s life…is similar to mine.


The tulip celebrates a birthday every year… every year it starts anew.

Which, if i’m not mistaken, is exactly what I do.


The first years of a tulip’s life …when it’s life has just begun

It only looks to be showered by the rain…and nurtured by the sun.


So too it was with me those first years…for I had no regrets

and I was always happy when my basic needs were met.


In the middle of a tulips life…before each season ends

It looks to other flowers and insects and birds to be its friend.


Here again with the tulip I am joyfully compared

For in the middle years I realized…life is better when it’s shared.


As the tulip ages it’s not concerned whether it’s bright red, big or small

It finds it’s comfort and it’s happiness in being a tulip after all.


So it was with me as more and more birthdays came and went

I settled into who I am…and I finally became content.


And the older we get…the tulip and I, when each new birthday does arrive

We are happy to be celebrating…happy to be alive.


Perhaps that’s why I love birthdays…for the possibilities a new year brings


Perhaps that’s why I’m so enamored with the first red tulip every Spring.

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What’s your secret he was often asked

to this contentment you possess?

Please, won’t you disclose to us...

What’s the key to your happiness?


“Everyday no matter where I am…

I watch the birds, the clouds...the sun

And then I watch the stars and the moon

When the evening has begun.”


“It’s something I have done

since I was but a little pup…

You see it’s easy to be happy


when you’re forever looking up.”

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My father loved his baseball, he said, “One day you will see,

how baseball is a lot like life…come…sit…and watch with me.”


He said, “When it’s your turn to bat…you do not know your fate.”

“You take a couple practice swings…and step up to the plate.”


“You’re ready…but a little nervous, as you hear the catcher pound the mitt.”

“Will you make an out this time…or will you get a hit.”


“And sometimes you get that hit…and sometimes you make an out.”

“For that, my son, is what baseball…and life are all about.”


“But the wonderful thing about life and baseball…is no matter how you do,

the next time you come up to bat…I’ll still root for you.”


As I watched my granddaughter play softball yesterday,

I had to smile as my childhood and adulthood met…

It seems my father gets much smarter


the older that I get.

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