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Mishongovi, Arizona Autumn 2004
Ochre Voices
An ochre rock lay cradled in my palm. Ochre, the fall color of the grasses of the mesas and of the withered flowers of the rabbit brush transformed to seed. The mustard tan of the dust blown high from ancient trails and the color of the dry corn stalks standing knee high in the autumn fields.
Ochre the color of Hopi.
The stone was from Second Mesa, from the village of Mishongovi, from the plaza. It was in this plaza the dancers have danced for 1,000 years. Dancing in thanks for abundance, dancing prayers for rain, and dancing to bring the sun back to its summer house at winter solstice. They danced to coax the deer out of the hills and the corn, squash, and melons up from the ground.
It was in this plaza that eagle feathers and corn meal were gathered and where the smoke of sage and sweetgrass sent prayers to the heavens. Their drums echoed their heartbeats and their voices, the wind.
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Hopi Mesas 
