The wind tasted like salt and cinnamon
As the drumbeats drew me in deeper
Through the over grown brush we walked
As the flute players song floated ahead
We started to smell smoke from their fire
Mesquite I thought as I trudged forward
The walls of the red canyons were ominous
You could barely see hieroglyphics on them
It was getting dark as we reached the creek
We must wade through to crossover
Now we could hear their laugher and songs
This beautiful desert was as it should be
Here in Navajo country just past Flagstaff
Awesome prose filled with vividness and creativity. Your photograph complements it well. I can feel the serenity. Thanks for sharing your gift. My best, Gloria
Thank you for taking us on such a lovely walk into a world so different then mine. I love the imagery and could see, hear and smell the things of which you spoke.
hugs
Fee
This book is an autobiographical account of the lessons I learned about life and how I was able to apply them to inspire, motivate and empower others in my own work as a firefighter, as well in my daily life as a husband, a father and a man. When I w
Asa D Seeley, a young Afro American man, shares his struggle to leave his past behind as he reaches for his future. In his one-of-a-kind style, he searches for answers...from the visible & invisible. A Memoir in Poetical/Prose form.
This book is an autobiographical account of the lessons I learned about life and how I was able to apply them to inspire, motivate and empower others in my own work as a firefighter, as well in my daily life as a husband, a father and a man. When I w
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Sheila
Newfie Hugs, Rose
Elizabeth (in the Sonoran Desert)
hugs
Fee
Harold M. Nash