By Barbara Atkinson
A gentle rustling breeze
Breathing in my ear.
Singing an aroma,
A whisper I can hear.
The tenderest of lovers
Caressing with their leaves;
The rites of Spring’s flirtations
Gently tugging at my sleeve.
Long and stretched to greet them,
My body as a loom;
Trees weave their mysteries round me
In nature’s undulating womb.

We’ve already had two elections this spring, and we’re gearing up for the “big” one in November. I hope women realize their votes can make the difference in how this state and country is governed. One hundred years ago, women in America were protesting the fact that they could not cast a vote on their own. It was often said, by men of course, that the women’s opinions were registered by their husband’s votes.