Write a sentence poem, he says, and I am an English teacher, and so I took the only way out of this poetic escape room that I knew how:

Out on the high wire,
an introductory prepositional phrase
steps carefully over a verb and its gentle adverb
into a prepositional phrase with a compound object
and a further series of prepositional phrases,
its feet poised for the absolute phrases,
its absolute phrases bunching together, and

LEAPS

into a surprising compound predicate.
(The crowd goes wild!)

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Gratitude List:
1. Meeting people I’ve met online IRL. Today’s connection was beautiful and sweet, and her children brought me sprigs of mountain mint
2. Mountain mint–such a gently invigorating aroma
3. This happy lamp–staving off the time change blues
4. Uji (millet porridge)–I think I am finally getting the hang of the fermenting process–it tastes like childhood memories
5. The way the autumn sun hits the tips of the oak trees in the morning and evening just as it makes its entry into and exit from the hollow
May we walk in Beauty!

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“Tyrants fear the poet.” —Amanda Gorman

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“Don’t be ashamed to weep; ’tis right to grieve. Tears are only water, and flowers, trees, and fruit cannot grow without water. But there must be sunlight also. A wounded heart will heal in time, and when it does, the memory and love of our lost ones is sealed inside to comfort us.” ―Brian Jacques

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“Those who contemplate the beauty of the Earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts.” ―Rachel Carson, The Sense of Wonder

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“Love is the bridge between you and everything.” ―Rumi

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“Come senators, congressmen
Please heed the call
Don’t stand in the doorway
Don’t block up the hall
For he that gets hurt
Will be he who has stalled
There’s a battle outside
And it is ragin’
It’ll soon shake your windows
And rattle your walls
For the times they are a-changin’.”
―Bob Dylan

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“To open our eyes, to see with our inner fire and light, is what saves us. Even if it makes us vulnerable. Opening the eyes is the job of storytellers, witnesses, and the keepers of accounts. The stories we know and tell are reservoirs of light and fire that brighten and illuminate the darkness of human night, the unseen. They throw down a certain slant of light across the floor each morning, and they throw down also its shadow.” —Linda Hogan

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What do you do
when the gods of the dreamings
offer you maps for the journey?

How will you answer
when the night-folk cry out:
“Give us the hope of our meanings!”
―Beth Weaver-Kreider