MARCH 2007: POETRY by Trina Baker Panting, I breach the trees for the meadow. Feet leave behind the dirt, moist and fecund, packed beneath needles and oak leaves in the shadow of redwoods clustered around the burnt-out trunk of a sister. Feet step softly where owl clover springs along the side of a muddy path. Horses marked the trail with dung; their hooves stirred up mud where damselflies flit low green and blue, ahead of footsteps. The first dragonfly of…
Trina BakerMarch 16, 2007