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 is not a drill. The attack on Pearl. They were the ghost planes of the night, deadly, illusive, sharp-clawed Black Cats. The Memoirs of ARM H.P. Lawrence, a Pearl Harbor survivor, Black Cat, and decorated war veteran.
The true story of Cheryl Pierson Cuccio who made headlines in 1986 and her husband Rob Cuccio. Cheryl was abused sexually and physically and Rob died for 43 minutes on Cheryl's 43rd birthday.
(Richard M. Feldman) Ever since I was a young boy, the only thing I wanted to be was a cowboy. I wanted to own and work on a real ranch, with cattle and horses. Especially horses.
While I never became a cowboy, considering everything I have done
Share
Print
Save
Follow
Sheila
Newfie Hugs, Rose
Elizabeth (in the Sonoran Desert)
hugs
Fee
Harold M. Nash