I sleep beside the river side; of ages past she whispers, louder than the storm clouds raging in my heart
She is the Buffalo River, gently flowing through fields of green and trees majestic
I witness her truth as I listen beneath the impending clouds of grey tumbling upon thick, wet skies
Damp trees lie quiet and still; for a moment the sun kisses my skin as the greyness of clouds disperse
Light gleams upon each leaflet above and surrounding blades of grass
The Buffalo River sings of waning tides and lost memories
I listen
In the distance a Cloud Dancer chants
He prays for a ripening of heaven and the awakening of spring Mountains
His soul is forever with the Earth
I hear the echo of a Wolf’s cry streaming into the delightsome valley as the Cloud Dancer chants his forgotten melody
A Wolf’s cry is a longing for the souls of lost, painted warriors roaming amidst the sacredness of trees outstretched towards celestial skies
Beneath looming trees the Buffalo River forever turns raging tides, shaping a rigid stone, carving a masterpiece upon this Earth
Thus the Cloud Dancer chants as water torrents dash and gleam beneath the light of a shaded moon
As seasons turn with the water’s ever flowing tide, spring moons beg for rain
Heaven’s moisture falls upon us as the souls of warriors sing the old Cloud Dancer’s music
All are kissed by moist skies and the valley is thirsty no more