Maeengan's Wolf Den

Where Maeengan is free to ramble on about his life in the middle of the Canadian praires.

Tuesday, March 14, 2006

Home

Whispering wind,
gliding smoothly amongst pine trees and spruce.
My feet,
pressing softly against sand trail,
lit only by moonlight,
shadowing through tree branches and leaves.

I can see stars and untold stories,
forgotten by my people,
replaced,
by the cross and bible,
and, yet,
this is home.

Have we not forgotten the place that gave us life?

We are still here,
and I wonder.

When did we begin to live,
our lives through a satellite dish?

Have we not forgotten the smell of fire beside a lake?
Sinking feet into the beach,
feeling friction of sand between toes,
seeing the reflection of Northern lights in still water,
joining together where land meets the sky.

I live in the city.

Hard, uncompromising, mechanical.

It's twisted,
both by steel and wire.

Unforgiving,
to those lured by images of syndicated television.

I think about home.

Air,
filling my nostrils,
clean,
tenderly.

Feeling wind on my skin,
tickling peacefully,
listening to waves,
washing on the shore.

Do you remember your home?