Yellow Feather

I once told you when you looked hard enough at me, I saw dancing.

And in your breathing, felt the crescendoing fire rhythms of an ancient people, as we, nomads, under the constellations painted with each of your finger tips, joined to worship the sustaining life giver. Clothed in our souls, we pressed bare feet into the clay soil so mightily, the whole earth trembled in our wake.

And you knew I was telling the truth, because the dust clouds never left your eyes.