Red sandstone, sheer cliff monuments awaits the morning breeze, and high above the canyon floor an eagle sores with ease.

As shadows of the mountain cliffs retreat from the canyon floor, a native boy and his grandfather sit enjoying the silence of the valley. Far below under the cottonwood an elk has given birth; now lays exhausted from her daunting night with her new born by her side. She nudges her a little to get her to stand, and with wobbly legs beneath her she plants them in the sand. 

The old man stood and walked to the base of the sandstone cliff, a place where the ancient ones scribe the wall with painted hands, and others used sharp rocks to scrape away the red stone sand, and carved the likeness of their people and other circled signs.

His grandson walked up to his side and asked, "What do they mean?" His grandpa hesitated before saying, "They are pictures made by the ancient ones who lived here long ago. The circles within a circles count the many generations of their family who lived on this land. The swirling ones tell stories of the hunter, who hunted through the dark, and ask the gods of the night to provide them heavens light.

He wrapped one arm around the boy as his tears began to flow; he was thinking of his father who told him the tales so long ago.

They returned to their perch, above the canyon floor, to listen to the sounds of life and watch the eagle sore.

Before sheltering for the day, the Elk drank from the Gallina canyon stream with her newborn by her side.  She paused just a moment, then looked up at the old man who stared back silently with love, knowing that they will continue to live together and share the spirit of this land.