I am the living among the dead, the chief cornerstone in this land of quicksand. The sun rises and sets upon my face but I worry not about my skin. Whether I have loved or not shall not remove the love received. I am strength, I am weakness, I am silence, I am the loudest voice.

The mystery of water, that preciousness of silent peace, rumbling, moving, baptizing. Water had spilled over into the valley touching my face as God left the oceans. Beneath my foundation the earth did change. When she left, God's footstep remained. He had stepped into the valley of the shadow and with him brought light, warmth and nourishment.

When God left all was changed but the surface remained the same. I heard the quiet tremble from the earth as it moved as his heels struck the canyons and his shoulders touched the skies. He had left his throne for me, the rock in the valley where a thousand of us lived but none are the same.

The sun rose in her spellbinding tradition, not a sound was heard. I looked into the northern sky but nothing was there. The air was different, quiet, reverent. I closed my eyes and saw the white blur of the sun's impression. I had seen the echo of God and it resounded in my temples for all of my lifetimes and my father before and my sons afterwards.

He shall come for us again, when the moon is in his twilight and the Owl hunts by his light. He shall come for us all, not with a sword but with a blanket. His mystery is his footprints, his voice, the reverberation of the valleys.

J.M. Prater