His pillow is an ancient cottonwood. Wind pushes gigantic branches. He loves the twisted tree. His bare feet sift cold yellow sand. The clumps of grass push against his back. The ground is wet and moist from a previous storm. The boy sleeps to the constant summer wind and the singing creek near the reeds.. Just around the corner, big plateaus devour the landscape. He dreams of them. The cottonwood knows and sees everything.
Listen to the wind as it travels through the canyons.
He’s standing on the top of a butte looking out across Canyon Country. In the distance a thunderstorm is on the rise. The lightning calls. The earth is dark. He doesn’t fear the darkness of the night. The Unknown is waiting. Over the endless expanse, the Creator is waiting. He walks across the sky, travels with the rain clouds. Hear the wind singing.
In isolation and safety, he moves through shadows further away from the daylight into the peaceful night. In the day, he dreams of sandstone, red muddy water, and the ancient cottonwood.
The Unknown walks with him, teaching him, and guiding him.