The times are hard and the long walk is a part of life…
It was on the road to Shiprock, the narrow trail of black asphalt that winds it's way to the horizon, along this path over time the footsteps and sound of
horses have been muffled by the wind and sage.
Way beyond the sight of any road in the cleft of a hill, there sits a small wooden house with an old green roof. In that place the sights, sounds of laughter, children and work made life easy.
Hauling water,
cutting fire wood
waiting to go school before the early light of day,
watching the sun rise and set
laying a trail of colors from blue, to black, gold, yellow, pink and Navajo red.
In the silence of the open road the voices, songs of old come to mind.
Sitting listening to the old men, and the old women as they spoke of things that happened before my life began, when there were no chidis-cars on the road.
In silence I pass the place called Burnham Junction and head South to Albuquerque through Gallup, and looking west I can see the place of my births, the line of my father going back.
There is no one there now, the place is empty, the wind howls and it is cold outside.
Who will know the stories of the people there, the times and winter sings?
Tell me Grandfather where this road I travel will lead, it has taken me far from home and in passing here I see but glimpse of light on the horizon.
Where does it go?
Twin Heroes, sitting at the head of the earth, Navajo Mountain, can you see me run along the edge of the horizon, looking for a place to rest.
The cold wind blows, and is just before early light. I drive on and my heart cries for the home I have left behind.
It is there just over the hill.
I want find the beauty way, and it is beyond my sight, where does this road go. It goes to places foreign and I long to turn around but the days light says you have to go beyond the horizon to survive…so I go on…..
The times are hard and so we go where we have to go to find work and for some they will leave and never come home....too far, too much work, not enough time or bucks to get back and so they head out from the rez....it has always been so....but the longing to go home remains...
rustywire
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You know I went home, but then the husband passed on and then the son moved far off, after the daughters had. And I tried to hold on, but old age brings bad health to some, well, most, I reckon. And one daughter said" Come over here. I miss you." I held on a little longer after that, but all of a sudden, looked like there wasn't going to be anything to hold onto, so I 'came over here', and my mountains stayed where they've always been. I'm the one that did the abandoning and pay with emptiness and longing. Funny thing, J.R., seems now I'm the only one that really misses anything. And the only one who doesn't forget. And the Blue Ridge would have me back...but I can't go.
ReplyDeleteMay all who wish to somehow find a road HOME.
There's ONLY ONE.
Nothing else, no other place can give us the LIFE we were meant to have.