There is an old cottonwood, burned by lightning; it has survived longer then most. It’s stands by a muddy river that passes through sedimentary gorges, red plateaus. The river and wind have been moving long before humans and monsters. The landscape is not untouched, because people have been using it for eons. Some of us may know where we originate, and there are many tales of how we came to be.
I think of the gnarly cottonwood and call it grandpa. It is sad to see his branches torn… Still though, he is very beautiful standing by the red river. The sun is falling, the clouds ignite. The old way is singing. Thunder comes to the canyon tonight and then the rain.