Softly, the sun's rays break through

Bringing light mingled with shadows

And the shy sky turns from gray to blue

Bringing life to sleepy, concrete meadows.

Quiet flows the river...today,

For it has its mellow mood

And speaks with a hush sway,

If only I could swim in solitude

And with nymphs, secretly play.

A V-8 that for many, became a first

And everyone got a thirst

For a race they secretly nursed

And in high speeds, they became versed.

A once fierce jaguar sleeps

Among a jungle of cars,

Yet, its beauty it always keeps

'Cause it knows it's a star.

Twice the princess journeyed the globe

Clockwise and counterclockwise, it went

Making a journey a space probe

From earth to moon and back would extent.

Cosmetic vanities Henry Ford disliked

To his son, he gave this task cloaked

And finish he did overworked,

But all credit, the elder got to himself hooked.

In 1852, the Studebaker company began

War chariots it built during the civil war,

The Champion car with fog lights it ran,

And through streets, like a lion it could roar.

Retractable headlights the car had

Front wheel drive it clad,

And 110 mph it easily could withstand.

To a historic legacy, it made an add

Only soon to close its productions, so sad.

Prizes in Luzerne and Monte Carlo it won

Fashionably beautiful it was done,

Packard became Stalin's favorite vehicle

And reverse engineering, a Soviet car feasible.

Rare split rear window,

A truly collector's bingo.

It's such a magnificent beau

But costs a lot of dough.

The waters reflect the pale blue sky,

As clouds scattered, embellish it.

With pensive positiveness I sit,

Inviting inspiration to come by.

Ducks happy in the setting sun

While eagles eagerly flew above me,

Creating memories of this run-in

Magnificently for me, for free.

As I stand by the river on the Nevada side

I can see Arizona where time is one hour ahead,

Glimpses of time an hour in future implied,

Making the river, past and future's double-bed.

A towering rock, scarcely shy,

A source for meditation high

As in Tibetan Buddhism advised:

For being with it, groundedness is prized.

Isn't there a poem by the Japanese poet, Basho, where a man just lost his home to a fire, and his reaction, is that, "now, he can have an unobstructed view of the moon..." And although, I don't want to have such extremes for anyone's life, the moon is asking to be venerated as it has been since ages past.

Clouds foreboding

Snowstorm slowly loading,

A limo to carry a girl

And make me feel like a pearl.

Though covered with snow,

Majestic is their eternal show

The mighty mountains remain the same

And to permanence they lay their acclaim.

Snow starts...

External lights

Stars of inner cities.

Festivity always

In heart begins,

The abounding spirit agaze

Life joyously plays on inner music strings.

The painter Max Ernst stated that he was born of a bird at times, I feel a bird touching ephemeral globules of snow that just fell gracefully from the heavens.

I skate and improvise dance to various music, including Travolta's Saturday Night Fever music sequence.

How lucky am I

That in water I can apply

Nymph-like ballet moves high,

And to the past, a warm good-bye.

Three bears...in whose bed did I sleep?