"Murmur of ancestors"

Trips into nearby Utah mountains where we like to play, often makes me think back to times of the past. What took place here? The blood and flesh of my ancestors call out to me.....

 

"Murmur of Ancestors"

                                 

 

Mountain breeze 

blowing warm 

up valley slopes.

 

Aspen leaves flutter

 

in steady waves of golden hues.

 

immersed in natures symphony

 

Crescendo!

 

As the rustle of leaves

 

tell of chipmunks play,

 

and the splash of clear cool brook

 

meanders down mossy trails.

 

I hear the murmur of ancestors

 

the rhythm of the drum and dancers

 

of past celebrations.

 

Pine trees whisper secrets to the wind

 

as hawks nest in their branches.

 

Hidden valleys used long ago

 

to shelter the camps of

 

Black Hawk's band.

 

Leaving behind the buried cradles

 

of still-born babies,

 

among the bones and flesh of

 

loved ones - disintegrated.

 

The valleys and mountains remember....

 

the streams carry the arrowheads

 

of mighty warriors down to lush meadows.

 

Listen carefully to the stories

 

told by Mother Earth and Father Sky

 

of the first inhabitants of this land!

 

 

Author's Note

I am forever grateful for the sacrifices of those before me!

Reviews

[emmajoy]

' As the rustle of leaves - tell of chipmunks play, - and the splash of clear cool brook - meanders down mossy trails. ' For me, those four sentences are for the little one, the pleasure of hearing and watching... so lovely.

Tis extraordinary how extreme sadness can read so beautifully; how heartbreak can recall the past and the companionship of ancestors-ever lingering in their old terrain Your Life's lessons never fade.. never..

[Jaweena...Eileen Quintana]

It was comforting for both of us to know that Ute ancestors found protection in those same mountains and canyons long ago. The Wasatch mountains kept them safe and hidden from enemies many times. The unused cradleboard was placed back in the trees where it came from. I visit that place almost every summer and ponder upon the special spirit that lingers there.

[Christina May Shanaberg]

I loved your poem, but it made me very sad! I have lived a large part of my adult life in the woods, often hearing a voice calling to me that could not be heard, only felt. Sitting in the shade of a tree, wondering whom once sat in the shade of its grandmother. Perhaps, the world will go green, again, and the future generations will hear my voice in the leaves of the trees nature plants!! Great write!!!

[Art]

nice work..the past can tell us so much about ourselves and the lives of those before us...