poetry, fiction, nature, culture, compassion, love
The rocks were jagged, and the climb was tough
one final pull and he had arrived,
he was strong now
standing on top of the mountain,
he bowed his head,
closed his eyes,
grateful
for the eagles in his heart
and the courage
he had been given.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies
Snow and ice crunching under his boots, and a strange gray reflection
rippling across the creek, with deer tracks on the other side.
He paused, zipping up his coat a little further,
watching the trees bend.
He remembered traveling through time
hunting for visions with bows
wearing buckskin
and an occasional feather,
but it was long ago
on horseback,
so instead, in his reflection
by the creek,
he took some pictures.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies
He saw her wounds, but she mended
his wings
each a river for the other
and together
they still climb mountains
every day going further
even stronger
than they’ve ever been before.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies
In the middle of the battle I often think of the Dakota.
A dream, in the mountains, horses
approach snorting, pawing the ground
feathers dangle, but their war paint is missing.
At the campfire I ask, “How
did you survive, when so many
have perished?”
A pipe is silently passed from one
to another, as I inhale, the answers dawn
without words, smoke
takes our prayers to heaven,
and peace again stills the heart
living
within us.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2017, ancient skies
With the safety of being under the pine branches, I allowed the light
to find me, only with small streaks.
The warmth of the earth
surprised me, and shadows embraced
my mind, as I lay down
with the smell of Christmas,
I remember hearing
a blue-jay singing
close by
as I drifted off,
dreaming of my spirit floating
over the mountains.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2017, ancient skies
As my spirit follows the trails of the mountains,
I walk to remember
there was a time,
when we were all whole
where there was no violence,
or hatred
in the earth.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2017, ancient skies
In the blustery winds of autumn, I’m often carried to the trails of the mountain,
and I often wonder what took me so long?
to find my way, to reach out
and grasp,
my healing?
Poetry and Images © Copyright 2017, ancient skies
