When my sisters and I trekked to the Place where Thunder Birds Rest, we sat down on the rocks and wrote out the sounds that were murmuring. Our first line had to be:
Music is everywhere.
It lives in the folds of our hearts and the sky above.
Its melody escapes from sparkling waters, chimes from puffs of white clouds.
Music orchestrates the land busy with noise. Small insects dance, the beating of their wings fill the air with a whir and whiz.
Music creeps from moss-covered stone steps, calls a cappella from clifftops.
Thunder Woman beats the sound of life with her drum, gathering the thunder birds to her breast.
From across Turtle Island, the sound of their wings thundering signals the calling,
the return to their nests.
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