a quiet day

what began
as a quiet day this morning
the sun shining brightly
cool, crisp winds filtering through the open window
the peace is interrupted by the sounds of the outside
          the cacophony of the everyday around here--
          cars whizzing past on the freeway
          a plane passing overhead
          trash being picked up
          all unnatural sounds
          no songs of birds heard anywhere--
but all are mixed with the soothing flute,
on that Canyon de Chelly cd
playing softly in the background
stories are read, stories that ring true,
these stories that transport me
from my room to the land, to Black Mesa
a mixture of sadness and longing fills this heart
with these thoughts awakened
the difficulty to find water
for the sheep, for the People to drink,
barren land, the grass has disappeared
making it harder to feed the animals--
          the sheep
          the goats
          the cattle
          the horses--
and the silent struggle continues
magnified by the drought
now said to be one to continue
for at least a decade
so all will continue to become scarce.
what will happen to the People
will they be forced "to sell their way of life,"
thoughts that mirror those in that story

in this room many miles away,
these thoughts continue,
then mad scribbling on an old envelope,
one that also once held thoughts,
          cross outs,
          lines with arrows
          additions in every direction--
madly trying to recover
all these fleeting thoughts
so that they live on 
beyond this old envelope
          it is to come to terms
          with life at the Altar
          their struggle is my struggle
          something that will always be
          until that last breath leaves my body

and i write to find balance,
to give this all voice







the wolf is my messenger





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Dakota Proverb






copyright © 25 february 2004, by louve14
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