In These Mountains As dreams begin to dance themselves awake After a day of full flushing rains in these mountains The bronze hands of women reach from beneath the earth Their bones glowing like neon fishes in cave waters. Droplets pelt the under fur of delicate wild flowers Steam rises to kiss moistened lips of falling leaves While I wander around inside the past Hearing the bronze women calling my name. Memories unfold from around these glorious ancestral mountains Positioning themselves into low hanging fog Touching the soft breasts of those who pay attention As the rains fall down into running waters Stopping only when instructed so by the Thunder Being. Sweet tobacco smells rise from the white water falling And I taste the aroma as it floats into my being. This is when the memories come close enough to smell But not close enough to touch Just close enough to taste But never close enough to touch. And sometimes late in the afternoon After it rains all day in these mountains If I know in just which direction to tilt my head And if I listen intently through the raindrops I can hear gentle, sleepy, rhythmic sounds Of small rounded pebbles clicking inside tortoise shell rattles Strapped to the ankles of the bronze women As they dance the Green Corn Dance reminding me I am never alone in these mountains. MariJo Moore ©