Above The Brush Line

As the wolves bay and the trees sway,
as the dust blows in and hits my face.

I drink it in with every breath
choking on feelings unable to translate.

The gut knows but the heart reaches,
grasps for solid ground, a safe haven.
It finds none here.

This is where the Lakota ran bare footed.
Where the wind whispers tales into the ears of lost souls.
This is where we come to see all the tangible things when we cannot see within.

The wolves continue to bay, the trees continue to sway,
and here I stand.

A rigid pillar of flesh and bone looking to the horizon.
Scanning the earth for the answers to questions that can’t be put to words for doing so would make them real.

This is where the grasses dance.
Where the circle of life was invented.
This is where we come to run while standing still.

Wolves bay. Trees sway. Grasses Dance. I stand. A decision personified. Weight from head flows downward until it settles deep in the toes that curl into the dirt through well-worn boot soles. I dig in. I feel it and breathe it in.
I step forward…