The sun falls lower in the sky each day.
The earth has turned
the color of buckskin and
gone to sleep .
excerpt from a poem by Nancy Wood, titled Migration:
Going from this place to another place
requires surrender of your old ways...
The soul's migration between the old place
and the new means
that you must recognize your path
to an unknown destination,
risking all with the chance
of gaining nothing. You are ...
the link that joins possibility to pain,
and thus you become the keeper of your own flame.