Just was it? Never what you’d expect.

Raw, flesh, bloodied red and dirt earth.

Like the taste of water sediment echoing in an empty cup.

Now I am taken back. 

To a foreign land, 

This terrain my skin. 

Transformed to a dusty rocky origin.  

An old tree, wild life springs about.

The scorching sunset 

quenching her thust by the mirage.

A familiar sound blankets the evening. 

Drowning the silence in long melodies, 

vowels weaved through tradition of gone days.

Red.

Dust paints it all.

The night rises, like a warrior. 

Shadows by the blazing flame… crackling bone fire. 

Chest drums a language foreign to the tongue. 

An ancestral chant, the warriors' courage.

On the Tree of Life, truth sits. 

A huntress watching. Preying. 

Is that not just?