Native American ancestors who have crossed over come back for the dance. |
"Spirit Dance" Full moon, a celestial campfire, was compelled to conjure this eventful evening into mystery and magic on the horizon. Skinny trees stood stoic, lined up as frightful undressed sentinels in a solemn attempt to protect snow packed sacred ground of a formidable forest and its forerunners. Crouched ghostly images imitated ominous sounds afar off that pierced and startled the night. Preys of the pack panicked, insulting the abstract guarding of sovereign land. Unyielding in uniform to its sworn ancestral duties, the tribal timberline was stirred with caution to stand alert, appearing silhouetted against a rising lunar blaze. Near the forest, a faint sound of drums began as a signal for the dance. Soon, Earth Mother trembled. Her heartbeat grew to a resonating echo. A chilled mist manifested a ceremonial circle of Old Ones chanting. Burning sage, sweet-grass, and tobacco seemed to fill the air simultaneously. After awhile, with the morning yawning the dawning of a new day, the serene forest could be found smiling, concealing its sacred secret. 18 lines |