The red sandstone canyon glows, lit
with the fiery sunset’s reflection.
There is no trail, but the canyon sides
themselves usher me along through
mesquite and sagebrush until I reach
the blunt end of this box canyon.
 
I stand for several minutes soaking in
the aura— no sound, no wind around me.
My skin prickles. Is there a sudden drop in
temperature? Senses on alert, I hear no
sound I can distinguish, yet my ears
strain as if there should be sound.
 
I sense I am on hallowed ground.
Soundlessly, I lift my hands in
Namaste, hoping my peaceful walk
is not an intrusion on ancestral land.
I am alone, but not alone.


© by Norma Wightman.
Used with the author’s permission.