Life has been mostly good
berries growing wild
and free to all
who took the time to pick them.

My childhood home had them
at the end of our dead-end street,
just a short bike ride
or childish adventure away.

The first home of married life
in the nearest town to the
Military base. No berries there.
Not that I ever looked for any.

The next home, where children
became abundant and grew strong
with love and a garden, but no easy to find berries.
The parents grew in different directions.

More years of not finding berries
except at the roadside stands;
children grew into young adults.
Divorce did not hurt too much.

A first grandchild, and a teaching degree,
and a budding compulsion to write.
Sons and daughters became busier and wiser.
Life flowed in good directions.

A fellow writer became more than a friend,
as I learned how many similarities existed
in my Catholicism and his Buddhism.
Writing and teaching filled the half-empty nest.

Twenty years with a philosopher
who seeks my opinion on many topics.
Flying through time till his health told us to slow down.
There are berries to pick at the back of the lot.