The Shadows talk across the canyon. They’re words speak through his eyes. Meandering from the window in the rock, he searches over cathedrals of sand, through the washes, down beyond the belts that hold the day. He kneels, sinking himself into the cool bank, it rushes over as it takes him.

It’s rhythm is steady, like a drum in the clay. As he drifts, he speaks his name to the canyon walls.....

Take me to your mountains....
Take me to your fields…..
Where does the spirit dwell?
Where does it lay?
Is there still ceremony?
I want to hear the echo of our ancestors.....
I want to see the footprints that stand over the rain….