The world is a fine tapestry, ever worked and ever evolving upon the loom of spirit. The worlds of the visible and invisible mesh, and sometimes the unseen is glimpsed between the red posts of the torii on a walk in the woods, or at home. The Kami ever call for their Miko, and they are both within us all. The flower of a poem opens her petals to the sun, amidst a garden of other poems. The poetry herein is the product of a Western Woman who...