poetry, fiction, nature, culture, compassion, love
When I was a boy, my bow was only made of plastic, but I could fire those arrows way up, so far, so far
into the blue that you could not see them anymore, lost
in the clouds until they descended suddenly
deep into the Earth as if an offering
received. Nobody knew
but I was a Crow warrior back then
simply opening up
the sky.
More beginnings.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies
As the winter storm roared through the trees, thunder rumbled rolling
through the valley, having been sent down the side of the mountain,
and I realized our spirits are so fragile, we often sense
the loneliness of the wind, with snowflakes swirling,
and yet inside our cocoons, we acknowledge the safety
and that God was never angry, even though
He probably does live in the wind
coming down
from the mountains.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies
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
Don’t bury your pen just yet my brother, my sister
the journey of your light has just begun
and there are still songs
that need to be written,
and still music
in your heart
from the mountains.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies
A twig snaps under my foot, as I stop in mid-stride
a crow drops noisily on a large branch,
bouncing, looking, inspecting
my progress, while I let my foot down
gently. I stand remembering
the First People,
Crow, they were called
and that chief,
named Standing Bear. Shadows
moving through the trees,
leaving only feathers –
the crow hides quietly
this time on a taller branch,
perhaps there was a ghost
brushing
against the ferns.
I start walking again, silently
with shadows blending.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2017, ancient skies
In an earlier time, America was covered with forests, except for the Great Plains
and swamplands of Florida. People grew their own food, with nuts
and berries, and some corn, and as they loved each other, loved
their communities, taking care of each other, they were able
to spread their wings, taking in the Creator breathing,
and they were encouraged by the sun. It was
a beautiful time really,
simply beautiful.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2016, ancient skies
When he arrived back at the village there was a lot of whooping and hollering by the children. They were running and jumping around, as if they had never seen a person return from a hunt before. Hawk in the Sky led three horses (including the spotted one) full of provisions, as he walked back to the village. Old women smiled, and men slapped his back with congratulations.
It was always good to have food, and give to those in need. The elderly were always given their portions first, as a sign of respect. He couldn’t help but smile, as he entered the lodge of the elderly Bear, and his wife Running Doe. “Good hunting is always an excellent sign”, Running Doe said, with her smile beaming.
It wasn’t until later, as he was sitting around the fire with his wife, that he remembered the dreams he had been having, and they were not a good sign at all. Staring into the fire he realized there would be another race of people coming to their land, and there was a horrible storm behind them. They were a race of light skinned people, with hair on their face……and well to be honest……they smelled. No these dreams were not good at all.
His wife stared at him with concern on her face. He had not touched his food. He shook off his worries, and smiled as he looked up at her. She relaxed as she stared at him, wondering if tonight was a good night? It was her smile that got him each and every time.
Tomorrow he would meet with the village counsel and talk, right now it was time to be with his beautiful Red Wing. He loved her softness. The children were asleep, and the two of them would soon be as well….. underneath….. the buffalo blankets.
Note: This is inspired by First Nations/Native American stories.
Writing and Image © Copyright 2016, ancient skies
Peace and blessings to everyone.
“When we love people, we give them hope.”
