where are you?

It was in a place where the walls are silent and the voices cary far,
and I was looking for people, the first born of this country, natives
to the soil where they live from the eastern shore, and travel to the west. Looking North I can see the those that live way up high and to the South cousins from an America we sometimes think of as another country, but yet they are kin.

I wonder about them, the way of life, the stories of old and the songs they sing, in this I am looking to see a little of their life, how it is with them and maybe to glimpse into their world.

The old man used to say, that there are others out there, they have stories like us and they travel the same road. You will find many lost out there looking to teach you things you shouldn't know, calling them their own ways and all the time asking you abut yours and one day they tell you what you told them and they have become you knowing more than you. He told me to stay away from them, they will steal your heart and mind.

I remember asking where are the good hearts?

He told me look to the morning sun, in the early light of day when
yesterday is washed away and in the glowing colors of pink, gold and blue chasing the night away you will see them just at the horizon, they are calling out to you to join them. It is a life long quest to travel that road, but yet each morning we catch a glimpse of them, just a touch of what dreams are made of, the beautyway.

In the light of early dawn I stood this morning and thought on these things and remembered his face and the steady gaze he held looking to the horizon, singing old songs and yet in all this he rubbed my head and said look, it is there.

Coming here, where are the songs, the stories, and lifeways of natives?

Tell me about your life, the way of living that I might get glimpse. Where are you, native?

I see many but the words are dark and twisted talk leaving no good eeling.

So I am wondering where are those that used to come and visit?