“I am not like you,” the old woman said slowly. “I do not tell stories.
I see visions. I see that life is not a line but a circle. Why do men imagine
for themselves the illusory freedom of a soaring mind, so that the body
of nature becomes a cage? “Tis not true. To be  human is to be circled in the cycles of nature, rooted in the processes that nurture us in life, breathing in and breathing out human life just as plants breathe in and out their
photosynthesis. . . “
                                                                                 —Elizabeth Dodson Gray
                                                                                         Green Paradise Lost




2 thoughts on “HOME

  1. That’s a really fine poem on Your Daily Poem this morning, Marilyn, a “list” poem with unusual images and adroit turns to keep the reader thinking it actually isn’t a list. I was ready for a nostalgia piece, but you made the material much more than that. Thanks for a good read to start my day. Richard

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