Weaving Native Life

Trees' jagged branches catch the sun sinking a moist hummus color spread and coating the edges. Pointed, thrust into seeping ink of violet cotton, is the mountain, chalk colored. It is a beautiful ogre, deceptively majestic. It eyes a village weaving native life. Spines of which are wild burnt-colored trees, the bones of the forest, its tangy scent sweet to prey that lure the lion, whose deep yellow is the hue of the indian sunset. The sky is now an acrylic portrait. A stoked fire settling, rose imbued. Ash color ingrained into stone embraced by ivory patches, bone-chilling. The sugar- soft dirt covered paths collect footprints. Carved into a life.