There is no savor more sweet, more salt than to be glad to be what, woman, and who, myself, I am.

You have come to the shore. There are no instructions.

I'll dig in into my days, having come here to live, not to visit. Grey is the price of neighboring with eagles, of knowing a mountain's vast presence, seen or unseen.

But we have only begun to love the earth. We have only begun to imagine the fullness of life. How could we tire of hope?-so much is in bud.

Let me walk through the fields of paper touching with my wand dry stems and stunted butterflies.

We call it "Nature"; only reluctantly admitting ourselves to be "Nature" too.

In the dark I rest, unready for the light which dawns day after day, eager to be shared. Black silk, shelter me. I need more of the night before I open eyes and heart to illumination. I must still grow in the dark like a root not ready, not ready at all.