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It's been such a treat to read everyone's poems! I spent half the day alone in the woods and ended up with two poems in which plays a part. The first is really just a single sentence. Here they are . . .

The moss cannot

drink the Light

unless it's sipped

some water

first.

And the next, longer poem . . .

The trees have eyes

where their arms once grew,

then snapped from the strain of reaching

for light that wasn't there

or wasn't enough.

I know the feeling,

the think-it-might-kill-you pain,

the beautiful breaking,

the sacred snapping off

of what's outgrown.

If light is what you crave, dearest,

then what you need

may not be a longer arm

or firmer grip.

How about

a new set of eyes?

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....Beautiful poems. I can feel your forest walk in them!

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What a lovely thing to say! I guess thatтАЩs really the goal, isnтАЩt it? To let the reader feel the forest walk (or whatever experience) as if theyтАЩre there. Thank you!

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Both of these are beautiful. The relationship of plants and light is so rich and meaningful

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Thank you and I agree - every time I think IтАЩve thought about that relationship in all itтАЩs facets, some new piece of it comes into view.

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These are both very moving and evocative, Lisa. The last sentence in the second poem is stunning--"How about a new set of eyes/" Wow. Your first poem, so beautifully simple, seems to come from the wisdom of a forest walker and someone wise enough to listen to the forest.

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Thanks, Larry! IтАЩm reading Robin Wall KimmererтАЩs тАЬGathering MossтАЭ at the moment and learned that moss canтАЩt photosynthesize when itтАЩs dry, so that (plus all the beautiful moss that I was walking across barefoot in the woods) helped inspire the first poem.

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