the ice learned that she did not have to be rigid like the earth she clung to.


calling out for themself,

they reached out,

let the sun in,

tumbled off the outcrops in a glittering spray of morning,

changing the landscape below with a running dance and without a glance back.

they brushed away the tradition of the mountains and mesas,

of mother earth who reproached them with silence,

and trailed color through the valleys they made,

winding and whirling and twining and twisting,

calling to life and light.


This poem is about: 
Our world


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