Canyon Quest      

Melodies float on the winds
through the canyons, haunting
in their sounds as they flow
around every bend,
reaching every nook and cranny,
surrounding those who enter,
searching for peace.

The hollow sounds of the flute fill the air
while he is there watching her every move.

These canyons are sacred,
filled with spirits who cry
for their children
in their constant struggle
to attain this peace, this balance,
this harmony needed in their lives.

The hollow sounds of the flute fill the air.
And he follows her every move.

The land is so much a part
of all who venture there
that to take this land from
the People is impossible.
They seek strength from the
spirits who inhabit there.

The hollow sounds of the flute fill the air.
Yet he follows her every move.

This land cannot be taken,
a part of their blood it is,
flowing strongly through their veins,
feeding their heavy hearts.
They turn to the canyon
that offers them answers.

The hollow sounds of the flute fill the air.
And his eyes watch her every move.

Still these melodies bounce
off the canyon walls
as quiet meditation swirls
with the sounds of the flute
all through the canyon
looking for answers sure to be found.

The hollow sounds of the flute fill the air.
Silently he watches her every move.

Others are there,
the mighty eagle,
the regal wolves,
the trickster coyotes,
the snakes sunning,
all silently watching every move
of all who enter looking for peace.

The hollow sounds of the flute fill the air.
Still he watches her every move.

One enters alone, looking for answers,
wanting to take all the pain,
wanting to take all the worry,
wanting to stop the harassment
wanting to declare independence,
praying to find the answers here in this canyon.

The hollow sounds of the flute fill the air.
And he watches her every move.

This quest continues long into the night,
but soon this figure is joined by another,
one that floats on the air, a spirit,
not just any spirit but that of the wolf
who constantly pervades her thoughts
in her search for the missing peace,
the missing balance, the missing harmony,
thoughts turned to land in the northeast.

The hollow sounds of the flute fill the air.
Protectively he watches her every move.

The two flow in concert, matching their every move
down the trails, winding for what seems forever,
but at last reaching bottom, and floating along
the canyon floor in search of one place
to sit amongst the scraggly mesquite,
raising their eyes to the sky in prayer.

The hollow sounds of the flute fill the air.
And he is there watching her every move.

The moon is bright this night, a full moon,
lighting up the canyon in places,
throwing shadows in others,
The stars sparkle in the sky
for it is a clear night, one sure to bring
what they have so long quested.

The hollow sounds of the flute fill the air.
Yet he still watches her every move.

But not this night, like all the others,
nothing comes to offer what they desire
though they both sit back in consternation,
patiently waiting, one leaning against the other,
still wanting to restore the harmony,
the balance, the peace for everyone.

The hollow sounds of the flute fill the air.
And he watches her every move.

The early sunrise brings still another new day,
this one in which a storm is brewing,
the ominous violet sky in the early hours
filled with clouds that offer no sunlight,
but only a narrow slit of bronze appears.
What brings this storm, this violent reaction?

The hollow sounds of the flute fill the air.
Yet he watches her every move.

It is those who strive for independence.
It is those whose hopes have been dashed.
It is those who have suffered, and still do.
Still these two sit silently watching,
her hand running casually through the fur of the wolf,
which only she can do for it is her constant companion.

The hollow sounds of the flute fill the air.
And he watches her every move.

For all of these the skies rumble, lightning flashes
bringing a downpour offering some respite
from the heavy hot air that surrounds them.
But these rains cannot wash the tears away;
they cannot wash the troubles away.
These two silently look at each other.

The hollow sounds of the flute fill the air.
Always he watches her every move.

She arises for departure, sad that the answers
have not come this time, and slowly walking
on canyon floor, despondent, hoping they will,
but aching so much inside that the emptiness
begins tearing her apart
While the wolf's mournful howl mirrors her spirit.

The hollow sounds of the flute fill the air.
Still he watches her every move.

Totally unaware of her surroundings, she moves
as if in a trance, seeing all and seeing nothing,
tears for all blinding her on her journey.
But she knows she will come back another time,
needing to try again to find for all what they need.
Some day there will be that light.

The hollow sounds of the flute fill the air.
And patiently he watches her every move.




the wolf is my messenger


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"We will be known by the
tracks we leave behind."

Dakota Proverb

copyright © 30 April 2000, by Louve14
revised 9 August 2003
all rights reserved

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