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A WINDOW OF TIME
IN THE GILA WILDERNESS, NEW MEXICO
Up the switchbacked road from Pinos Altos into the Gila Wilderness
the early autumn wind blows cooler.
The cottonwoods in the canyons below turn auburn and gold,
their leaves shimmering in the afternoon sunlit hollows.
At the middle fork of the Gila River I listen to the water
trickle over the stones.
The stone spirits breathe and the water spirits move
with the gravity of the moon.
The Mogollons talk in ancient tongues in the power of the wind.
The wind roars like a mountain lion out of the deep canyons
through the forests of ponderosa pine and doug fir
sweeping across the high mesas of pinyon and juniper.
The old ones have gone underground waiting for
finite realities to collapse.
Spider Woman weaves her web tighter and the Bear Clan sing
while Coyote laughs.
On the ridgeline the wind howls an eeriness, howling in anger
at a dismembered world with the center of the heart torn out.
Clouds of dust rise up and fine white sand swirls at my feet.
The wind blows stronger with all of its mighty power.
At 400 Ad the Mogollons resided here planting their beans and corn
hunting and gathering giving thanks to the Sun Gods
constructing their homes in the cliffs for protection from the wind.
They wove their baskets from the yucca plant, molded their clay for pots
and sang their tribal songs around the night fires.
Then they left mysteriously and the Pueblos arrived.
Back down in the white man’s world he dreams of death
to conquer the earth.
I watch the sun go down in the west over the Mogollon Mountains
as the wind begins to subside.
The fire gods glow and saucer white clouds drift
in the indigo skies.
In the fast moving world approaching another millennium there is
very little time to slow down but only a small window of time
to visit this sacred site, say a few prayers and return back
to the place from where I came.
* * * * *
THOMAS AVERY
(C) 1998
Clear Stream Publishing
PO. Box 5237
Eugene, Or 97405
river21@hotmail.com