Sleeping Giants

 A New Mexican Thanksgiving Suite

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In slanted light of falling sun
golden prairie settles.

Stalwart mesa shades its face
as piñon round and sagebrush knurled
lift their prayer in dusk’s sweet stillness.

And giants sleep into the night.
The Ancient Ones, who rest and dream
through dawn and day until
the time they raise their head
to welcome us back home again.

Reverb10 – December 3 – Moment


A moment. How do I look back through an entire year to find a single moment? Not wanting to relive the despondence, I am embarrassed to delve back into this year.  I am afraid of what I may find.  Is it possible my wallowing in the muck did not allow the moments of sweet rain to cleanse me of the sticky gloom that enveloped me?  As I step back to search for a moment of feeling alive, I must incise the crust covering the undiscovered moments and allow their gifts to finally be received…
As I turned off the highway, I searched for the road that would take me to my destination.  Driving the outer edge of Pueblo, I could see in the distance the land offering its spirit to me.  It is the land of pinyon and pungent sage.  The azure sky cradling wisps of clouds.  It is a land with points of orange and flecks of purple rolling up to the feet of soaring peaks. It is usually the similar scape of the New Mexican reach calling my name.  But today, this earth is close enough, almost close enough to call home.
My second turn transforms into a passage towards a new existence, a new me.  The road is true, no twists to lead me astray.  The dwellings of the urban locus give way to my haven where black birds lead and wind waves through the grasses.  It is here I breathe.  It is a craving for this arid place that gives me peace.  Big water also beckons me, with rushing waves rising to fear in my soul.  The water will take me someday, but it is the desert that is for living.
It is here my heart steps down to a halcyon rhythm.  My hands relax their grip.  It is here I will find her, the calm and the answer.  This land will give to me again what I crave.  I must listen.
As the road begins to turn away, the first augury is whispered.  My destination is no longer a promise of open skies and dusty earth.  No longer the short growth of the pinyon hugging my path, but lanky pinery closing around me as the sky looses its breath.  Tighter and tighter I am enveloped in mysteries of the forest not offered to me.  This is a place for others who touch this spirit, not me.  I drive higher and higher, not heeding the warning.
I did meet her here.  I couldn’t bring the rusty clay onto this fertile soil, but I could mold a fortress around my heart.  An opening cleared of forest then used for dwelling was the meeting place.  With eyes closed and rhythmic breath, I saw her, a woman wise and beautiful with adobe hands, a herald.  An identical twin of me, with adobe hands.  Listen to the wise woman and I will be new.
And harbinger three, an owl leading the way at eventide.  Wings spread the breadth of my view and bowsprit pointing to the winding course back to the expanse of prairie clover and coneflower.  Listening, I finally made my way in the early dawn back home with a new friend, a twin of sorts. 

I am my wise woman.




Reverb10: December 3 – Moment. Pick one moment during which you felt most alive this year. Describe it in vivid detail (texture, smells, voices, noises, colors). (Author: Ali Edwards)