I speak now of the ridges that have
Grown down my spine
They move with me slowly
As if they’ve been there for decades

My bowels are restless at the thought of your voice
It is no longer like honey to me
And what of my voice?
I do not know what it tastes like to you

Know only of the ridges that run
The length of my spine
They allow bad water to run down my back
Which is quite a distance when the miles are finally measured

I have only hopes and wishes
Which keep me together
Even my beauty
That has so often wrapped her softness around me
Now draws back as if frightened

Re-entering my garden
It is now a different season
It seems I have missed Harvest
Large pods hang tiredly on brown vines
Flowers faded, I missed their bloom time

But prayed and danced
With big beautiful women, sinewy back men
And held sick babies until their crying ceased

– Northwind 

Pollen, Hoddotin flecks the cheeks of the child
Watching his shiwoye praying to the rising sun.
Her songs of love, blessing, and protection for her
Line kissing his ears. Her heart kissing his heart
As she weaves the medicine that will follow him
His entire life, protecting him even againt his will
The ridges running the length of her spine count
Her remaining days… so much to do, so much to do
She looks into the dark little eyes looking to hers
With the love of the ages… and she continues her
Work, weaving, weaving her songs of protection
Love and protection, and another ridge rises in payment.

– Southwind