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Issue 4 2001 July, 2001

Lost Creek Campground, Wheelchair Accessible Trails I. Beavers have built this smooth water. Grasses edge the pond. Wide blades arc, enter the water -- reflection, a circle. Lingering beyond the grasses, alder and cascara. Thin trunks, exuberant leaves. Water-striders dash their shadows across the silty bottom. Dragonfly, a finger of blue light, comes to rest on the mud shore. Wings repeat the sun, the silence. Raven's cry rattles the throat of sky overhead. Dismantled to stillness, I am no other place.   II. It's the spaces between the immense trunks of mountain hemlock that I've missed. The forest-weaving of light, shadow, green. The scent of needles. What I loved and lost, -- returned.   -- Melanie Green This poem originally appeared in Manzanita Quarterly. WHAT DO YOU THINK of this story? Click to tell us. Back to table of contents