Drums,
Beating slowly,
And filling the air
With distant
Thumps.
A sound that connects
One canyon
To another.
One village to
The next.
Like a heartbeat,
Faintly pounding,
Almost rumbling,
As the people
Move their feet.
Walking
Somewhere, always somewhere.
Down the arroyo,
Across the meadow
To the big rock,
Never talking.
Soft, but hardened,
Mostly happy,
Sometimes sad,
And often burdened.
By others,
Who want something more
Than….
Semana Santa,
Matachines,
Tesguinado,
Raramuri.
Many
Places to go,
People to see,
Things to do,
And a world to ponder.
Audio Version:
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