As the morning sun crests the ridge
Shedding light but for a moment
Before whispering clouds take hold
Breezes wisp the new green grasses
And chatter through the creek side brush
Hoof steps stomp upon the dusted path
As the powdered rifle booms loud and true
Scraping leather as the knife is drawn
Slicing skin and tendons crisp and smooth
Bones snap under directed pressure
The load is lifted with a heave
Autumn rusts red in the hollows
Leaves find their home upon the stone
Camp smoke slowly sifts through the woods
As the axe echoes keep the time
Muffled language is spoken from a distance
Joyous utterings laced with smiles
Acorn meal sifted in baskets
Slushes with water and dashed with salt
Flames contained cause hisses and pops
Sizzling fresh meat and herbs aloft
Scattered snowflakes fall softly silent
Building slowly among the rocks
The foragers' feast rolls merrily along
As rhythms old and new join in harmony
Today the world welcomes Little Boy Boyer
My cousin's kid
May the old paths become your own
And may the ancient rhythms guide you through
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