By Ethel Mortenson Davis
Last night two men slept close to an elephant trail, hoping to see the herd. In the morning they discovered an elephant track between their two sleeping bags. We are the same. We are part of them, they, part of us. This morning we ran to catch a glimpse of the last of October’s light as she lit the tops of trees on fire, and heard the voices of cranes, high above our heads, that we have heard a thousand times before. But still, we were lifted. A great river drifts through us. She glimpses us to see if we have caught the ripples she throws out.