Author Information
The Penokees
This place so sacred,
its the pre digital record keeper of our past,
present,
future.
Its the vibration of power,
rawness that reminds you of your place in the cosmos.
The trails whisper stories from our relatives,
who danced here,
celebrated thier lives,
and honored those that passed before them.
The mother of where food grows upon the water,
where dreams are still verified,
and the resting place of stories trickled down,
from the mouths of our mothers,
the keepers of water,
the givers of life,
just as she is...
It's our Holy Land,
it's the end of a historic journey,
and the birthplace,
of new beginnings,
dreams,
stories,
the recall of our purpose.
It's our legacy,
the birth place of unseen visions,
that reverberate through time,
born again,
so that we may remember who we are,
to be captured and recited by our unborn,
so they never forget,
to never forget.
Its our hope,
the future,
the place where women give lessons,
and where boys learn to be men.
A place where lovers played,
thier tracks entwined atop the crusted snow,
as they danced for one another.
Its the time bank of ancient teachings,
the time capsule that reminds us,
the verification of our greatest gifts,
an archaic testament to the legacy of our people,
and the power of thier stories.
