I see the hill where the red clay stands,
the purple flower that grows from the rock,
the mesa that meets the meandering meadow,
the golden grasses that dance in the sunlight.
I feel the warm wind caressing my skin,
the cool red clay that holds so strong,
the hot sun where the lizard lay,
the enveloping spirit of peace.
I smell the pinon,
the virgin air,
the land, its musk,
the sweet wildflowers.
I hear the river
finding her way,
leaving her footprint,
telling her story.
I taste the tears
that roll down my cheek
and spill on the earth
as the sky looks down.
I know this place of colored stone,
the spirit of harmony.
This is the place of my birth.
This is the place of my rebirth.
© Shelli Carlisle 2009