"Walking "

"Walking "

Greg Budig 2020

Stepping out the door,

always a good start. 

Letting your feet lead 

you forward on a 

journey around the 

block, or maybe the 

edge of town, even 

further if you desire. 

To have strong, young 

legs again, striding 

easily without care. 

Each step takes you 

closer to your 

undetermined goal. 

The simple act of walking, 

truly an amazing thing. 

Gently strolling around 

the flower park.  

Marching briskly through 

the bustling downtown.  

Upon a lonely, gravel 

prairie road at sunset. 

The air is sweet with fresh 

cut hay and wildflowers. 

Walking gently on a 

winter's night. Beneath 

crystal wings of snow. 

The lights of Christmas 

scattered here and there.

You walk amongst the 

spectacle wide eyed. 

A child reborn. 

Summer evenings,  

the appointed time when 

 walkers take their steps. 

 Families with strollers, 

young people with dogs,

lovers walking hand in hand. 

Down the street, around the 

block, a familiar routine.  

Traveling across the land.

Great distances 

without care.  

Setting out to clear your 

head. Forgetting about 

a sense of time. 

Moving further away 

from what's inside. 

Feel your feet upon the 

ground, gracefully striding 

through time and space. 

Moving forward at a 

steady gate, covering 

miles along the way. 

Walking to an internal clock,

walking until you are home. 

The End 

"Sacred Evening "

"Sacred Evening "

Greg Budig 2020

Decompressing. 

The appointed hour.

Lengthening shadows 

signal the arrival 

of twilight. 

Summers are so brief 

here in the north. 

A perfect evening is sacred. 

Above is the sky. 

A cathedral of blue.

The atmosphere radiates 

with a deep cerulean hue. 

Like the piercing eyes 

of a nordic child. 

The sky deepens as the 

sun slowly falls. 

The air itself is 

almost edible. 

Perfumed with freshness 

and summertime. 

The essence of chlorophyll,

of freshly mowed lawns. 

Of potted geraniums and 

charcoal fired grills. 

The trees are full. 

Massive green heads

of velvet thick leaves. 

They softly dance 

nature's waltz.

Trunks in deep shadows.

High above leaves ablaze. 

Catching the sun's last light. 

Your mind is deep 

in reflection.

Immersed in the 

evenings quiet prayer. 

The soul of nature 

caresses you. 

Making you complete. 

Making you whole. 

This time is truly sacred. 

A peaceful and holy state. 

Transcending the 

bonds of religion. 

This is what truly 

inspires your soul. 

Your sins are cleansed. 

The Gospel is sung by birds. 

The End 

"Stages "

"Stages "

Greg Budig 2020

Some things take time. 

It's a slow progression. 

Trying to make sense. 

Trying to remember. 

Trying to forget. 

Trying to see. 

I'm trying. 

Stages. 

Where you are in the 

beginning. 

The starting place of the 

journey. 

When will you get to the 

middle. 

Will you ever reach the end?
Stages.

You are born. 

You grow up. 

You reach adulthood. 

You realize truths. 

You realize falsehoods.

You grow older. 

You die.

Stages. 

A natural progression. 

Or so we are told. 

Following a 

deliberate path. 

Or wandering aimlessly 

through life. 

Reaching each milestone. 

Stages. 

It is said there are 

five stages. 

In the studies of 

Kubler- Ross.

From anger to acceptance. 

Bargaining, depression 

and denial. 

These are stages. 

The passing of the 

seasons. 

The journey from 

birth to death. 

The evolution of the 

human race. 

They are all merely 

stages. 

The End 

"Holding Hands"

"Holding Hands "

Greg Budig 2020

A simple act. 

A basic need. 

A sacred trust. 

A lasting connection.

A symbol of friendship. 

A lover's desire. 

An ancient longing. 

Holding hands. 

A newborn's grip

 around your finger. 

A connection made

 deep in the heart. 

 Mother and child, 

 bonded through life. 

Across the miles they 

are still holding hands. 

The first sign of 

a new friendship. 

Young children on 

 playgrounds at school. 

The first sign of 

a new sweetheart. 

Sweaty palms as this 

all seems so new. 

The human touch. 

Still searching. 

A need for acceptance. 

Wanting to belong. 

Two hands reaching 

out in the darkness. 

Feeling reassured. 

squeezing your hand. 

Children hold hands

in innocence and trust. 

Hands are held in the 

reverence of prayer. 

Hands held in a circle

of spiritual renewal. 

The celebration of life 

is in our hands. 

Holding hands is a 

sign of attraction.

Holding hands in 

the passion of love. 

Holding hands as we 

walked slowly together. 

Holding hands as you 

quietly let go. 

The End 

"The View Outside my Window "

"The View Outside 
My Window"

Greg Budig 2020

The world evolves and 

changes, like the 

view outside my window. 

Hour into hour. Day by day. 

Month after month. 

Seasons pass as the earth 

revolves through the 

view outside my window. 

Night is shadows. Leaves 

silhouette in the moonlight.  

They dance beneath 

the sterile streetlights. 

The bare branches of winter,

black skeleton bones,

twist in patterns against 

the snow and night sky. 

A morning chorus of 

springtime birds erupts 

in the early faint dawn. 

Through my window I 

hear them, fluted voices 

so clear, they sing to the 

horizons first light. Outside

my window they call.

In summer the view is 

a collection of green. 

Shades of yellow and 

blue. A kaleidoscope of 

chlorophyll, movements

of shade and sunlight. 

Constantly changing on 

the warm summer breeze.

Autumns pallet is rich in 

pure gold.  Red and bronze 

against the brilliance of 

blue.  A sky so deep, so clear,

so exquisite. The open drapes 

flutter on the dry fragrant 

air. It smells sweetly of 

dried leaves and smoke.

I  see all the neighbors,

 admiring their landscapes, 

discussing the urgent 

news of the world. 

The mail carriers arrival, 

announced by yapping 

small hounds, it is 

always the same every day.

Through my window is color.  

Through my window is life.  

Through my window I see 

the world moving by. 

Framed by soft curtains,

Beyond the glass and dark 

screens, the view outside my 

 window is mine. 

The End