Driving
the dusty trails of New Mexico,
1991,
I am the curious traveler who would
discover
the ancient and the new. I stop in
amazement
as sweeping vistas unfold
before
me. Desert lands span horizon to
horizon,
and above the wide open and
endless
skies. Profuse colors, shapes and
sizes
fill my eyes and saturate the senses.
And
dotted here and there Santa Clara,
Santo
Domingo, Acoma, Zuni, Taos, Isleta,
San
Felipe, ancient pueblos, man and the
land
still alive and thriving, living in har-
mony
after 500, a thousand years and more.
There
is a living culture of humanity here,
and
a steadfast tradition to experience way
out
beyond the big city buzz, and everyday
suburban
and rural realities. Stepping back
into
time titillates and challenges my mind.
There
are still places where the past is pre-
sent,
where yesteryear’s customs are prac-
ticed
and preserved. It can make one who
has
seen both worlds feel insignificant and
small.
For, after you and I are gone, unlike
the
pueblos of New Mexico, the names
named
for you and me shall fade anonomously
into
the drifting sands of history, never having
survived
as long. I realize the desire to chant in
passing,
and dance barefoot to the beat of drums.
Chris
Hanch 11-6-19
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