Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth.

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same.

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

~ Robert Frost

Friendship is a quiet walk in the park with the one you trust

Love is when you feel like you are the only two around.

Friendship is when they gaze into your eyes and you know they care.

Love is when they gaze into your eyes and it warms your heart.

Friendship is being close even when you are far apart.

Love is when you can still feel their hand on your heart when they are not near.

Friendship is hoping that they experience the very best.

Love is when you bring them the very best.

Friendship occupies your mind.

Love occupies your soul.

Friendship is knowing that you will always try to be there when in need.

Love is when you will give up everything to be at their side.

Friendship is a warm smile in the winter.

Love is a warming touch that sends a pulse through your heart.

Love is a beautiful smile to which nothing compares:

A tender laugh, which opens your heart,

A single touch that melts away your fears,

A smell that reminds you of the tenderness of heaven,

A voice that reminds you of the innocence of youth.

Friendship can survive without love.

Love cannot live without friendship.

~ Author Unknown .

Come Monday ~

By the bohemian, on August 28th, 2013

I’ve spent the last month of summer reveling in the Florida sunshine, visiting family and friends and welcoming my newest grandchild into our world. Now as Labor Day approaches and summer begins to wind down, I look around at all of the things I have to be thankful for and once again I count my blessings and am grateful… grateful for love and grateful for life, especially grateful for the opportunity to truly live and savor it all.

“You only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough.”
~ Mae West

“Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.”
~ John Lennon

“To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.”

~ Oscar Wilde

This Labor Day marks the third anniversary of the Bohemian Review. As I once again dream of heading to San Francisco along the Pacific Coast Highway, I hear Jimmy Buffet in my mind because I always, always know that… Come Monday, You’ll Be Holding Me Tight.

The roadtrip through Big Sur to San Francisco is one I’ve dreamed of and imagined for as long as I can remember. I’ve waited so long that now nothing will do but to make the trip on the back of a motorcycle; riding along withith the feel of the wind and the smell of the ocean and the sights that have been written about, drawn, painted and filmed by many an artist, I can’t imagine a more splendid trip. Ahhh… the beauty and the majesty.

It’s on the Bucket List and hopefully by next Labor Day I really will be heading to San Francisco for the Labor Day weekend show!

I love you Kurt and know that because we are together in this world I have learned a new way to live life.

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Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

A free bird leaps on the back
Of the wind and floats downstream
Till the current ends and dips his wing
In the orange suns rays
And dares to claim the sky.

But a BIRD that stalks down his narrow cage
Can seldom see through his bars of rage
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
Of things unknown but longed for still
And his tune is heard on the distant hill for
The caged bird sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
And the trade winds soft through
The sighing trees
And the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright
Lawn and he names the sky his own.

But a caged BIRD stands on the grave of dreams
His shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with
A fearful trill of things unknown
But longed for still and his
Tune is heard on the distant hill
For the caged bird sings of freedom.

~ Maya Angelou