Standing Tall in the Wind

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As I stand on top of the mountain,

where the pine trees face the wind,

two hawks soar

banking in my direction,

carrying strength in their wings

so that I can stand tall in the wind now,

encouragement fills me,

so I say, “Thank you my brothers.”

while sunlight dances

on the river.

100_1053Poetry and All Images © Copyright 2017, 2019, ancient skies

Note: From my archives.

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Our Heart Song Riding on the Wind

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You didn’t really hear me when I spoke but I was aiming more for the sky instead of your ear,

hoping the words would ascend floating

around in the heavens replaying

in the form of a song,

encouraging us

again and again. You looked up

and feathers began falling reminding us of snow,

it was some sort of sign I’m sure

we stood there

knowing we were the prayer

our heart song riding……

on the wind now.

      

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

The Wind Spirit

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Back in the day, when the Lakota still carried power in their feathers they would call on the Wind Spirit to protect them from the sharp eyes of their enemies.

The Wind Spirit would howl, blowing in a ferocious storm so that not even the hawks could see the lodges of the people, barely seeing the pine trees through the snow.

And the Wind Spirit continued to howl until all fear was gone having been breathed through, the nostrils of the Lakota ponies.

 

Writing and Image © Copyright 2019 ancient skies

Riding the Wind

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Hey you know what? I’m having a great time writing, so thank you so much for being along for the ride!

This blog wouldn’t be any fun if it wasn’t for you! So thank you once again for your love and support.

I really love the diversity that can be found here. There are so many countries and ethnic groups that can be found. Awesome!

And I love where my work is right now, and I’m excited about where it’s going. “Coyote” and “Purple Dawn” were a bit of a breakthrough for me.

And I love your work! So let’s ride the wind together. Thanks again.

     

Writing and Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies

It Was 11:30 PM

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It was 11:30 PM when he made his last cup of coffee, stirring in the creamer while the rain pelted his kitchen window.

It was the wind that sent sheets of rain, lashing out in waves again and again. He was glad to be home.

It wasn’t much of an apartment but it was peaceful. Dimly lit, he kept only 2 lights on, like his father had taught him.

Should he read the paper? He headed for his chair. He realized nobody really read the paper anymore, did they? He decided instead to get out his travel book – the one on Ireland.

Someday he wouldn’t be working 18 hour shifts at the hospital anymore.

It was 12:10 AM when he fell asleep in his chair, the book still open on his lap, as he dreamed of a cottage by the sea. 

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies

I Love the Wildness in the Wind

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I love the wildness in the wind, buffeting

as it roars

through the pine trees,

threatening us with snowflakes swirling,

moving the branches of the oak trees

as if to say winter never left

us at all.

I simply smile remembering

the flowers, and the light rain

that washes us,

and the brightness

of the sun that embraces us,

the new life born again, after

the wildness in the wind.

   

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies