The ponderosa on the edge of valley grass sets the forest on the meadow's doorstep. The woven grass is dense and soft as I sit on it, being sheltered from the mountain sun by the fingers of the spinster pining. The colored bark is like embroidery of a Chinese silk coat. I felt secure and warmed on the bosom of earth, adorned in sunlight; my second glance turned to a gaze.

-- Steve Tracy