Perhaps it was the Lakota Song drifting over him, whispering in the middle of the night, when he was a child, a sound of singing,
blessing his dreams, from the tall grass…..that soul filling call, to touch the clouds, whispering in his ear, in his heart, the core of who he was.
He could always write the river, so maybe that’s why he was born loving the colors of our earth, with prayer feathers,
and wild horses running strong. It was poetry, after all.
Poetry, and Image © Copyright 2020, ancient skies
Note: I was born in the desert, not far from the Rocky Mountains.
We were too far south though, to hear the Lakota Song.