The moon brightens the sky as it beam with jubilation, sparks of glowing blushes and clouds surround the external walls of the moon’s crust. The night owl gaze down looking back at the campfire, the smoke placidly covered the checkered twilled patterns cloth worn over the shoulder on my back the medicine man. I look around to see that all the children had fallen asleep. I smirk as a grand grin of justice grew over my face. I walk around putting blankets over them. The unspoken truth was like the silence cabinet nails that lay beneath floor and echoes through the limitless sky. A tribal storyteller, a medicine man are both like prayers with no answer. Simply wait for the intimate sexy ambiance of remember, like childhood where everyone is selfless, where sorrow never knock at the door, where tenderness prevails.
December 16, 2010