ten thousand miles
begins before the sunrise
red, ready for us
two and a half states
bring us mountains, skies, and lakes
blue, gold, crimson calm
life isn’t parking—
adapting to site unseen
from a computer
but look at this lake
and this brown-eyed, sleepy pup
Montana, my heart
ten thousand miles
begins before the sunrise
red, ready for us
two and a half states
bring us mountains, skies, and lakes
blue, gold, crimson calm
life isn’t parking—
adapting to site unseen
from a computer
bug look at this lake
and this brown-eyed, sleepy pup
Montana, my heart
a calming cycle
on a rails-to-trails flat path:
way to start the day
more history learned
at a medieval castle
built, burned, lost, rebuilt
my man boating us
back down the river, towards home
our heritage left
riding up river
in a boat we drive ourselves
weathering windstorms
the river’s flooded
even for Irish standards
yet we navigate
monastery stop
seventh century ruins
Irish faith runs deep
a long drive’s reward:
stellar food, oldest pub
and Guinness to drink
sleeping on a boat
knowing Athlone’s lights alight
can be quite calming
a castle day trip
cycling on sketchy roads
yet worth the visit
hidden Irish gems:
four hundred years of earls
residing in stone
science surprises:
this telescope discovered
distant galaxies
and Bruce got to stand
in the largest redwood grove
outside the U.S.
night ends with laughter
in a 1500s pub
kindness in their blood
a rough travel day
and some rough river waters
aren’t too rough for us
the sunset calms us
the river settles for bed
and we can rest now
we’re the post office:
through wind, rain, sleet, clouds… weather
we weather the storm
just another day
in the life we’ve created
in sickness and health
botanic gardens
will forever be compared
to Monte’s beauty
tropical magic
trees and blooms of every shade
giving us NO shade
two thousand years old:
a tree planted by Romans
to bring us olives
on all future trips
beating Madeira? so hard
blue-green amazement
1.8 million:
the years laurel has lived here
giving life to all
enchanted forest:
the only words to describe
Madeira’s true gold
traditional homes
give homage to these laurels
simple thatched roofs
a magical place
waits for you on this island
hidden in the sea
this Funchal art walk
makes me miss my young artists
at home without us
yet we must adjust
with the empty nest so close
i can feel its grip
this trip is a test
to see what “just us” feels like—
we’re on sold ground
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