soft female rain

It was about this time of year, the dust had been blowing the sun was
shining down, it was dry and sand clouded up when walking through the
sage. There was a big rock, one with carved names in sandstone,
initials and dates, telling of others who had come this same way.

What is this place called, slowly it comes to mind...Hooshtah, a place
of soft blowing sage, moving gentle in the wind even on this hot
afternoon. Walking through them you get the urge to reach out,
extending your hands out to the side and feel the gentle tips of these
sage as you wind your way through them. The red sandstone, Navajo
sandstone they call it calls you to it and so you walk up to it and
feel it with your fingers. All those initials, come new and some faded
of an earlier time. How smooth they feel, they talk silently of the
young lives of the people here at home. Touching the rock it is warm,
and this makes it softer to the touch. Standing there, looking at it
and the valley below I can see the gentle sheep trails, the small paths
used over the long days of summer and the cold of winter to herd sheep
over the rocks, hills and mesas around.


Holding onto the rock, standing against it the clouds come over slowly
and you can watch the shadow race across the ground. Turning and
heading off through the sage, it slowly comes, just a drop and then
two. It falls, and the sun breaks through the clouds and there the
drops fall ever so slowly onto the ground. They drop one by one on your
face, and then your back and a few on your neck. It feels so good, the
colors of the rainbow guardians to the East stretch their long fingers
across the horizon. Rain, soft gentle rain covers everything. It is
time to change, and things will grow. Softly the wind blows through the
sage and cools the earth, now covered with gentle rain.


Yasho, it is good to see it so, I look around one more time at the
valley below and see that the colors have gone pink, blue, glowing gold
and the sun makes it way down over the mountain leaving the rainbow to
paint it's colors all over this land and so it is with such things in
Navajo land, my home, my place and turning I run on home......
rustywire