Ok, we’re coming to the end of our year, still busy but not as much, winding down to the greeting of the new year and the beautiful rest, sleep and slumber of winter in the Pueblo.

Every year, the girls and I stay in the village for the quiet time, the season of mother earth’s rest; I’ve traveled many places and I haven’t found a culture that lets the mother rest for a moment, we do, however, a when I was kid story comes up again. hihi

Many many more families would move into the village after the harvest. It was a simple and amazing time to rekindle the old fires of the village and see the families walking in and out of the walls.

Those days are fading and fading fast, I don’t think people would move in the old village even if you paid them, but be that as it may, we are still here and some families still believe in the inner migration of the soul, the village, the inner sanctums tummy.

In the village when it storms up a good snow
thick flakes falling,
on the cold crack’d earth

you can’t hear it’s flirting, it’s teasing,
dancing us to sleep.

Why do we return this pristine, old, present time,
this overwhelming love of the ancient,
hugs endless kisses you drop, offer as we sleep soundlessly in our village home,

a song of snow is calling,
loud as a thunder drum
a singer in the cloud world is singing,
come, ye all you faithless faithful!
some get called out by name, some hear it before it happens. Continue reading INNER SANCTUM’S SLEEP CALLS THE SNOW