I SNEAK in early, wanting a minute to think about how to ask for a FAVOR. Then I CATCH your eye as I reach for the JAMMY dodgers. I look a fright: BAGGY clothes, BADLY combed hair. If it were another century, you’d call me BAWDY. But today, in the staff break room, you recognize me. “Would you like some tea with those?” I freeze. Like a dog caught in the act of stealing food off the table. This was not how I wanted to meet my new supervisor.

Georg’ann

Vivid oranges and rich reds
CLOAK stone grey branches.
With each step a slip or crunch
on those that have already let go.
Thoughts of death ARISE calmly.
Don’t DAUNT sense of security.
Cycles of life and all that, here
convergence, senses so alive
in these BAWDY woods.

Heather