Echoes of the Canyon

They say that she is crazy talking to the canyon; Listening to the voices that echo from the rocks. She knows that they are out there, the spirits of the Ancients, And the moon, it makes her restless as it lights the path she walks. The Storykeeper told her the water there flows crimson; That the grass for the ponies, is lush and green and tall. Among the stalks of sky-blue corn, medicine drums are calling; The Old Ones shadow-dancing as the twilight starts to fall. So she burns a little sage on a fire made of cedar; Sending prayers out to them in a shower of sparks and smoke. The flames bid her welcome into the Sacred Circle; Her flute repeating softly, the promises that he spoke. For her sacrifice and faith the Old Ones send a message; A hawk dips down and beckons to follow ever high. The path is steep and rocky, but she just keeps on climbing; Waiting for the moment when she’ll be allowed to fly. One day, she simply disappeared. I like to think she found it; That emerald endless valley where the Spirit Dancers dwell. The only question left... do we deserve to go there? I guess that’s just a story that only time can tell. So, will they think I’m crazy talking to the canyon? Listening for her voice to echo from the stones... Their thoughts do not concern me in my quest for the Great Forever; Wandering the Crimson Canyon trails, searching for my home. *With love to TR...who set my feet back upon the good road.