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
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