Tree, Trust and Truth
Come from the Same Root
Kay Grindland

I often walk into woods at night,
hoping for a moment of grace. Trees
make no pacts with despair.

All year, they hold hearts open to wind.
Each branch greeting light.
Even in winter, their buds ready.

Their belief is earthed, founded
underground, fed from roots grasping
darkness in soil's decay.

It is this bridge--braiding life
between shadow and light
that I embrace.

Moonwalk
Joan Dugas

I count among my deepest longings
the desire to stand upon the moon
one leg lost in dust, the other shaking free
the soot left by the frazzled man
too busy smiling at the world to clean house.
I would bounce for the shear fun of it
feeling the lightness of myself
while in mid-air I reach out to touch a star.

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