Pecos Summer

May 5, 2010

 

 

I see the hill where the red clay stands,
the purple flower that grows from the rock,
the mesa that meets the meandering meadow,
the grasses that dance in the sunlight.

 

I feel the warm wind caressing my skin,
the cool red clay that holds so strong,
the hot sun where the lizard lay,
the enveloping spirit of peace.

 
I smell the pinon,
the virgin air,
the land, its musk,
the sweet wildflowers.

 

I hear the river
finding her way
leaving her footprint,
telling her story.

 

I taste the tears
that roll down my cheek
and spill in the dirt
as the sky looks down.

 
I know this place,
of colored stone
the earth, the water,
the spirit of harmony.

This is the place of my birth–
This is the place of my rebirth.

 

~sc 2009

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