It’s In My Bones

The smell of sage and it's cleansing breath, sacred smoke. It's in my bones. Ponderosa pine reaching it's branches up to heaven in offering, faint scent of vanilla lingering. It's in my bones. Rushing river in spring thaw icy, crisp, refreshing, purging the earth. It's in my bones. Soil is cracked, scorched, shriveled like scattered …