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December 18, 2007
In The Wind
Holding her hands up, reaching
As do the delicate carved hands of a church saint
Her hair sweeps across the inherent face of her ancestors
Covering the sky with streaks of shiny black silk
Her clothes seeming to pull away from her small, sturdy frame
In this moment, before the Father Sun and Mother Earth
A prayer is sent from this single spirit of such pure intent
That the wind speaks into her ear the whispers of eternity
A place she has been a thousand times before
For the knowing always travels in the wind
Posted by kay at December 18, 2007 06:11 AM