E-Mail us Slowly. A quarter moon pristine in black but waning in violet slips to the farthest plain and lifts its tide of darkness from the buttes and draws and cottonwoods stalking along the river's shores. Ashes that will be embers in the fire of day. Silence in a breeze that wraps around those who will make words to a song, the buffalo, the antelope, the elk and bear.
Silence is the chorus beneath the eagle's wings.
Ponies, paint and sorrel, emerge from river breaks amassed in muscle and mane. Tipis welcome the dawn in circles and sunlight streamers flow from the east to meadowlarks and mothers singing . . . . The picture fades. Another day in the fall out from Manifest Destiny begins. Without stepping foot upon our lands you will have seen that image, be it from a movie or conjured from literature, it thrives in the imagination.