كلمات Little Hands

Winding down the dusty trail from Cathedral Butte Walking towards the canyon floor playing Anasasi flutes. Eagles flying overhead beneath the desert sky. Makes me think of how they lived many years gone by. I wander here from time to time to give my head some space. Leave the noise and confusion. Vanish without a trace. Salt Creek runs through the grass as you hum that canyon tune. Brush against the desert sage just like some sweet perfume Eight hundred years ago this canyon was their home. Eight hundred years ago they walked through the sand. Eight hundred years ago they painted these little hands. Yes this is the timeless place thats seen them come and go. They packed it up way back when and drifted on down the road. The earth, the sun, the moon and the stars. meant so much back then. But the years go by and though you try you cant bring them back again.