Click below to listen to the narration:
where the granite ribs of the earth rise bare...and the wind wears wisdom in its hair...a cairn of balance...stone upon stone...stands like a spine the wild has grown...robins trill in morning’s hush...their chests aglow with dawn’s first blush...raccoons pad soft on moss and shale...with stories curled in ringed-tail tales...a deer steps forth...eyes wide with lore...its breath a mist of forest yore...the hawks wheel high in sovereign arcs...their shadows slicing light like marks...crows convene in council flight...black syllables against the white...they speak in tongues of time and flame...of settlers lost...and lands renamed...each creature drawn to the sacred stack...where stones remember what words lack...they circle close...a parliament wild...each beast a witness...each bird a child...the sky...a vault of stained glass dreams...spills color through the sun’s split beams... clouds drift like pages...etched with grace...of maple leaves and a nation’s face...there...a chapel...faint and pale...a schoolhouse ghost...a railway trail...the past refracted in sky’s embrace...a prism of memory...place by place...the robins sing of birth and flight...of nests built high in fading light...the raccoons hum of midnight raids...of moonlit streams and cedar shades...the deer recalls the silence deep...where snow falls soft and secrets sleep...the hawks cry out in piercing tones...of battles fought on field and bone...and crows...the keepers of the dead... speak names the wind has never said...they chant of treaties...broken lines...of forests felled and sacred signs...yet here they gather...beast and bird...around the stones where truth is heard...no war...no wall...no human hand...just stories rising from the land...so let the sky be stained with light...and let the stones stand through the night...for in this place...the wild convenes...to speak in verse of ancient dreams...