75 Arrows

He shifted slightly in the saddle, letting go gently of the reigns, they both stood there and breathed in the view from the top of the ridge. In his peace, he realized it didn’t matter now.

Even if the government fell tonight, and democracy was swept away, he would still have one of the best trail horses ever made. He loved his Quarter Horse/Belgian mare. And he had his compound bow, but only 75 arrows until he learned how to make his own.

He dismounted and led the mare to the stream. Soon even people would be able to drink from the rivers again, having been cleansed. He was a little uneasy though, about carrying the bow wherever he went. What was it the pastor had said?

“Sometimes we hold onto our weapons, not willing to accept the new being made…..” Yep that was it……he was unwilling to accept the ruins and the new was having a difficult time breaking in. Maybe he just needed more time.

As the mare drank deeply, a noise to his right caught his attention. He swung around the bow, and his right hand instinctively reached back to the quiver……he wondered if the deer knew he was hunting…..

from the Apocalyptic Journal

     

Writing and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

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The Earth Would Bring Healing

She squinted through the snowfall, her determination burning once again, in spite of the howling wind.

She had followed the wings of the hawk, and now….was that a cave? They had been led here for sure….”C’mon my love!” she yelled to him, who struggled with each step.

He had saved her so many times, now it was her turn. They knew this was not the time for dying.

Once they collapsed inside the cave, they found it warm and safe. They had survived the ruination, the last of all wars, led by the spirit hawk, surely it was a sign.

The Earth would bring healing. There would be a spring, and hope…..was about to be born.

From the Apocalyptic Journal.

     

Writing and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

Whispering Each Other’s Names

She loved it when the wind gently lifted his feathers

she tucked her wing under his,

and felt so alive

they both ascended

whispering

each other’s names.

    

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

The Survivors – Part II

“You mean you built this place by yourself?” he asked, then realized it was a stupid question. Brie looked at him with steel in her narrowed eyes. But then the baby (a girl) at her breast adjusted herself and Brie softened immediately.

He was always amazed at how children changed women, adding a softness deep within. And the beauty of their bonding……well it was beyond words. He was convinced, it went beyond the deep exhaustion, and squarely into the realm of the supernatural.

Still covered in sweat, her blond hair somewhat matted, Brie cleared her throat and began, “Well I learned lodge building from the Mandan, I grew up in a town within their territory.” “Normally they don’t share the skills and ceremonies with outsiders….but they knew me, and then the wars started and the diseases..…..”

It had only been a couple of hours after the birth, but Brie needed to sleep. She handed the baby to him, which was surprising because she still had the large hunting knife next to her. She trusted him enough though, to hold the little one.

“What shall we name you little one?” he asked the baby not expecting a response. Brie had insisted he name the child, because he had removed the cord from around the child’s neck during childbirth. “You saved her life…..so you name her….”

He thought of Cheyanne but that name seemed too common among the survivors. “How about “Lakota”? It seemed to fit somehow. Brie stirred when she heard the name. With one eye open she said, “Lakota is the perfect name…..our…… Lakota…..” “Ours??” he asked out loud.

Narrator: And so begins the story, of how the Northern Peoples began again. A new hope was born. It was all part of the healing of the Earth, and her people.

     

Writing and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

Generations

Future generations will marvel at our survival,

how we walked through the fire,

and made it

to the other side.

    

Note: from the Apocalyptic Journal 

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

In the Wild Streams

Will our children enjoy the depths of the wild streams when the end of all things is completed? Yes, as the ravens guard the river flow, and as wild geese fly over.

Having been washed by the great trouble we can see now, when our tribulation will end. As cities descend into ruins, the Earth will be healed, and cover over what used to be.

And we will not only bathe in the wild streams, but a new rotation will bring a cooling, and plants will no longer be burned. Our future generations of survivors will feel safe, within their deliverance.

     

Note: From the Apocalyptic Journal

Writing and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

Weekender

Hello! Some of my blogging friends have tried something with their blogs, that I’ve decided to try as well.

Many now blog on the weekends with maybe a stop by during midweek. It was a tough decision but I will be trying the same.

I really need more time for writing, and have so many projects! For too long I have neglected putting some books together, for love poetry, nature poetry, spirit poems, and my novel I so much want to work on!

The downside to not being here as much, is I will not get to read as many of your wonderful posts! You are all wonderful artists, writers, and people!

When I took a break recently, I realized I needed more time like that. I will still be around, just at a reduced level.

I make no money from writing, but it would be so cool if I did!

I will still share the poetry I’ve been known for, and the short pieces of fiction.

Thank you for your understanding! Leave a message here if you’re looking for my email address. 😎

I wish you peace.

Writing and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies