I walk with spirit, strong and fierce

Each crack of thunder, light does pierce

Souls of those wandering long ago

Traces of energy as if arrows to a bow

 

One moment the valley is quiet in repose

The only sound witnessed, the squawk of the crows

Suddenly wind dances and spirit beckons

Drawing in those who dare to reckon

 

The mesa stands, resolute as before

As if, representing a historical door

Breathing in the air, lungs holding life

Stone to a hearth, bone to a knife

 

Storm clouds billow from the crest of hills

Ancient spirits painting with time honored will

This place is forever present, no matter the map

Spoken in the rumble of each thunder clap

 

-Lavinia Busch, 2018

 

Mesa Verde. What words can one speak to paint a picture worthy of the actual? It seems trite to write about a place that speaks and sings as if teaming with life still today.  The storms roll in and can be seen miles away in all directions. The ravens playfully squawk, taunting all those who venture this sacred ground. The sun playfully kisses the tops of the mesa and the moon shines with a silver beauty reserved for ancient souls and brilliant spectacles of light.

 

I could stay in a place like Mesa Verde and be content for the remainder of my life. The dynamic energy is humbling and begs to be explored, not superficially as a passing tourist might. This place is a living, breathing organism and would take a lifetime to understand if only in some small way. I am certain that given the opportunity, I would listen intently to the sky and hope to hear what it has to say.

 

Returning to Los Angeles fills me with a deep sense of melancholy with the knowing that Mesa Verde lives on. Maybe this is the way the ancients felt, leaving the majesty of these cliffs and the intimacy of these rocks. I understand that thumbprints remain on some walls after having been smoothed by ancient builders.  What I would give to rest my finger upon this ancient graffiti and feel the spirits of long ago.

 

I suspect if given the opportunity, I might find a kindred soul among the ancients. Being one who has never felt of this time, the intimate relationship between people, land and spirit speaks to me as no other place has. How can one return to the bustle of city life, rush hour traffic and the disease of busyness? For the moment, I plan to soak in all this place has to offer in the whispers of the wind and the painting of the sky. I will imprint the memory of this place until I can return once again to walk with the ancients.