Reprise. Oct 5, 2022 - In The Presence Of Stones

 

A dream: 

The man I have chosen is a painter of images on the walls of stones.  

When I think on him, my heart becomes hot and I breathe quickly.  I have seen him working. I saw his back and his arms and his thighs.  I have seen his black eyes which give nothing away. 

Today I wear my leather leggings made new at home.  Today I wear a new dress, with colors worked in.  Today I make myself beautiful, with ochre on my nose and chin.  But I will tell you, that even without all of that, I am the best of all the young  women.  My face is like that of a perfect child’s, my hair is very long and braided by my mother.  I am straight and strong. 

I have a walking song.  I will walk this path this way only once.  But all my life I will sing to myself this song to help me walk and work.  I know what life will be. 

Morning is soft.  Light is just touching the highest of the walls.  A kind wind is blowing down the canyon.  Insects are waking. Dew is drying.  I smell the sweet smoke of our morning fires. 

There is a blessing song the mother’s sing to me, laughing as they do at my desire.  They walk behind me, as I will walk behind my daughter some day. 

To make my children come to me, all my neighbor’s children walk beside me.  They make a blessing. Little black heads and sleepy voices.  Small rabbits.

                                           

When I find him, standing with the fathers, he is wearing a robe of beaten wool with a red stripe on the top and the bottom.  He makes a slender figure standing in the deep shadow of the morning stones.  The fathers wear their beaten robes also.  Behind them are the paintings of the ones who are not living among us, but in the other world.  Their memories are on the wall.

 

No one may know what we say to each other.  I have dreamed a saying for him.  He alone will hear it.  I am waiting to hear what he will say to me. 

His black eyes give nothing away, but are sweet like a young hawk’s.  He says my name to me.  He says it softly, only to me, and I become his in that moment. 

There is a blessing song the mothers sing.  There is a blessing saying the fathers say deeply.   

The sun is rising now.  A day is here.  

(I decided to lightly edit this old post and re-post it because I was interested in seeing it again.)