Last night I sat with my friend, Evie, and it was thundering and lightning outside. Lots of rain. I played my cottonwood drum for a while , in honor of the Thunderbeings. We were talking about old poetry, and the idea of posting some of it one our blogs. I looked for some old poetry books, but only came up with old journals, and grabbed just one to check out.
I opened to the first page, and this is what I wrote in September 1980; the synchronicities to the present moment were nice, indeed.
Lightning skies, and thunderstorms throughout the night-- each day the sun comes later, darker nights. The camera can pull lights from the sky, stretching the indigo of rainbows until it shines like twilight. Twilight indigo. Rings of turquoise-- Color emerges in the spirit's song; and how often we change our colors. I shone blue near the creek waters, near thick old trees and ancient pathes of soil.
But now the winds blow cooler in the morning; the moist air creeps into the bones like fog creeping 'round the harbor boats -- a fine water mist clinging to the sides, shining cold and bright in daylight. The sun hides like it doesn't want to interfere with the journey of the Thunderbeings. Rolling through the sky -- large sound -- a band of drums beating a mile wide -- a thousand miles. Watch the color of rocks emerge, the last green of summer leaves, the garden peppers, still white and hard, dressed in clear glistening raindrops. Inside, the peppers grow redder each day -- the soft hues of yellow disappear -- they dry with red canyon roads, getting deeper everyday.
Constant rain; twilight indigo water.
September, a yellow time moving out to the ends of a rainbow.