No trail here.
The only thing clear
Is that everything here
Appears the same
Where is the moon tonight?
I could use a little light.
I was told by the Native Nation.
That this was a place of consecration.
This is where they took the old to die.
And on the rocks their bodies would lie.
I came to look, I started too late.
Planning was never one of my stronger traits.
Here the Raven gave them wings to fly.
The Fox gave them cunning eyes.
I could use those things now.
If just to reach a road that's plowed.
I might not find the exact rock pile.
I may have found their culture's style.
I see them now in every formation.
Each wisp of fog
Each rampike log
There is something that flows through every tree.
That only the Raven and Fox can see.