poetry, fiction, nature, culture, compassion, love
“Success is to be measured not so much by the position that one has reached in life, as by the obstacles which he has overcome.”
Booker T. Washington
Wishing you great success today as you overcome obstacles, inspiring others with your courage!
May your sails be filled with power and beauty!
Note: This is from my archives.
Writing and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies
Well I received a notice the other day from wordpress saying I’ve been blogging for 5 years!!
Thank you again for all of your wonderful support here. I wish I could follow each one of you.
I don’t write out of some psychological need, and I certainly don’t write here to make money! Although it would be nice to have some books to sell.
I write simply because the words live within me. They simply flow.
Here’s a poem for today:
Words living within not to be hidden
or tucked away
but meant to be spoken
or written
from the heart.
Poetry, Additional Writing and Top Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies
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
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
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
“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
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
