Her Roots - Trout Black
A strong wind
wrenched the great Madrone
from her hold on the hillside,
and when she fell
her roots,
hanging in mid-air,
gave us handholds
to lean on and safely swing
through her body
and back onto the trail.
Wait Without Hope - T.S. Eliot (For Holy Saturday)
I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love, For love would be love for the wrong thing; there is yet faith But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting. Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought: So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.
