(no subject)
It is too often that we forget our landscape. the soil beneath us or the the coast lines. we forget the people that we are the people that have made us . i am haunted by my heritage my endless internal battle of Algonquin blood and the european blood that beats in my veins. I am a cross section of people pushed from their land. it reminds me of my vagrancy; My lack of home. and as i look out to the land in front of me i see it beneath the shade of the trees canopies along the dirt path that cuts over the hillside, the red hue of the mesa cutting and making rigid the sunset on the horizon and the white of mountains that seem to pull the clouds to the valley they remind me of home. It is in this landscape that i also feel a twinge of bitterness and resenment for what this nation has become, and as i try to over look the unglines with in the decay of cities, the lack of trees in the supdevoleped suburban hell. i can see the green grass beyond them i can see the resilience of the richness of the soil beneath us, and i tell myself perhaps it is an egotistical mind that thinks we can wreck something this wonderfull, but i choose what seems a more sensible ideolgy of balance, of hope.