Bears Ears
Whispers of
juniper,
Sage scent of
star filled nights;
Wind whispering
softly of
Remembered
rites on plazas
Dancing to the
drum, song, prayers
That echo
still.
Handholds
furrowed into cliff sides
Painted in
prehistoric colors.
Footsteps of
the ancients follow
Lightly dusted
trade roads
Between
carefully placed stones of origins.
Bears Ears:
Birthplace of living nations.
Toni Truesdale
Copyright 2017
Tonitruesdale.com
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