John Keawe is my cousin's cousin, and a great musician. I'd like for him to come, bring his wife, make music and share some time with us.
My own photo stash lies slumbering in my old laptop-to be retrieved, but not by Monday. Still, I cannot arrive empty handed-perhaps a poem will do?
Indian Summer
Warmth from a fading sun
Golden rays touched with the promise of icy blue winter
Dance one last dance
Before the earth sleeps
The drowsy time
Just before bedtime
Dozing in the easy chair
One last burst of color
Before the cold silences the earth until spring
