Before Our Lives Were Here

The language of our elders whispers soft upon our skin. We see it in the landscape of our lives. Trees dance to it. They pull the soul of life from out the earth. We will say the flowers grow. We will say the winds blow. But the truest words of our language are the ones that we forget to know. When we speak to our children it is from the echoes that we hear. Those soft sunbeams of birth upon canyon walls. Those fierce winds that bellow down the halls of our lost heritage. We are the nature we feel separated from. The wind is our spirit, without the burden of time. The sun was our vision before we could see to rhyme. We will always be together in the heartbeat that is God, and I will be upon your skin as sunshine and I will be upon your breath as air and we will dance upon the earth to the music of languages born before our lives were here.