Counter Culture

Today's closing hangs lower than it did yesterday, trying to mess with tomorrow's dreams. Sitting here, dressed in a wry smile, my heart whispers to a sky, tie-dyed with the jewel of Navaho stone and the salmon pinks of Tsimshian legend. I feed myself with steam from Irish tea, invoking the memory of my first Lakota sweat lodge, and take comfort tracking what's left of tonight in Indian time; tomorrow will have to wait 'til I get there. This now is meant for savoring the scent, sounds, and sights of Mother Earth as she gets ready to tamp down the fire of a troubled day, leaving my peace under the watchful eyes of a Harvest Moon.