Prayer to the Cloud People



Dawn is streaked

with scarlet ribbons

pearl white, slate gray.

Purple shadows cast omens

above the trees,

rippling over the river’s ebb and flow.

The sunstar is absent

though an eerie glow seeps

through fur clad clouds.


Geese fly over my head

so close I imagine

I can see glassy ebony eyes.

And ducks in gay abundance

sail by as I scan the horizon

for cloud laden ice crystals.

So many shapes

to choose from on this

hopeful gray winter morning

as I conjure up falling snow.


Working notes:

We have been without precipitation for many months now, and the parched cracked high desert is deeply distressing to witness for many of us.

I also believe as Rupert Sheldrake postulates, that all Nature has memory and that S/He hears the prayers of the people when their hearts are opened on behalf of the Earth.

I appeal to the Cloud People in this time of deep distress, in the hopes that either rain or snow will grace the mesas, cast white shadows on the undulating reptilian mountains, coat the scrub with life bringing moisture and soften the hard ground that only the gophers are able to move as they negotiate their tunnels six feet underground.

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