Soul Stance River - 26

With our Shoshone friends and escorts we are headed to the Nez Perce Trail, an ancient path that joins the West to East, its late August the pines smell spiced with emerald soul, wise and healthy, its getting harder to breathe but easier to believe that we are destin to be the poets of our own history, Cameahwait and his guides are solemn in their acquiescence to show us where the Missouri is birthed, reticent they are we know not why but we are ecstatic to behold the source which we shall pass before reaching the trail, uphill into a clearing of gentle jades of green on ground soft with the moisture of fertility a thin stream slowly skips through a tumbling journey as we ascend between the budding hips of this mountain the stream becomes no more than a gurgling trickle slipping down from the snowy peaks, each of us takes a turn standing over this mountain menstruation with a foot on both sides as a gesture of respect and conquest how far we've come, and labored against the whims, fury and power of the Missouri and here we are, giants above it's innocence, J.A.B.