Here I am in the rain shadows on the leeward side of the mountain in sun-baked dirt cracked as an old dinner plate. Out of this, I rise alone, a purple flower no bigger than your thumbnail. I shout to blue sky and to you Here I am … a miracle … remember me. Mary Padgen Michna She always wrote poems. She always loved flowers. This retired journalist returned to the page with poetry. Her work was published in Bullets into Bells, A Time of Singing, The Bluebird Word. Honorable mentions awarded from Passager and Franciscan Spirituality Center in LaCrosse. She is still writing poems and tending her gardens.