it was sometime in the sky ..
sometime when the winds were blowing,
blowing their words to me..
long ago, long ago but I still remember,
yes, the memory lives still..
sweet, the taste like the fields we once walked.
words come to me, something…nahuatl..
these were words spoken once when this place was ours
but my memory lives,
and the story is writing itself..
..the story itself never ended or died
it just hid itself from public eye..
but these memories speak, these memories live..
these memories demand the spirit,
and the spirit, lives still.
still moving, still singing.. spinning.
I was listening, and I heard your name, too..
but these words often lose themselves in the sounds of today.
when we’re too busy to stop, and pray..
but I heard those names, I heard and remembered, still..
those old things, simple to bury,
but never to kill.
so those fields I walked, were once again filled
and the wind carried those old scents, buried within, but never killed
those memories swam back, a haunting sea of dreams
.. dreams.. and simple things..
power, in its old times..
a heartbeat, remembered, felt in the heartbeat, cried out in drum beat,
felt inside, carving new, old lines..
~ written by Caledonia Rattlinggourd
photo by trentlarson