Dipping My Hair In Blue

We are at the junction of the Little River and the Ottawa River, journeying into the Canadian wilderness by canoe, the paddles stroke slowly into the water, paddles heavily incised with vines and flowers, and I am dipping my hair into the deep blue. Spirit, is a native man in a crisp white shirt, his head shaved but for one braid with feathers, his blue leggings enthrall me, intricate beaded moccasins are sublime, his leather pouch and glass jewelry lovely, I think I love him . . . Falcon, a beautiful man with raven hair falling down his back, his feathers are fluttering in the wind, he has dangling earrings, a red cape edged with gold threads, his beads are exquisite, and he is telling me stories and smiling at me . . . I could love him, and I am dipping my hair into the deep blue. O, how can this Ojibwe girl choose, I love them both . . . I truly do, but luckily for me this is a dream and I can love both. ____________________ December 10, 2012 Poetry/Narrative/Dipping My Hair Into The Blue Copyright Protected, ID 12-1086-821-0 All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym. Submitted to Standard Contest 520 sponsor, Brian Strand First Place