The beads fall
Scattering across the floor
Kneeling down she searches for them
Picking up all that she could find
Tears sliding down her face
The brilliant turquoise and bone
Cupped in the palm of her hand
The leather thing, now so old and frayed
Stretched to its limit
Tears dripping upon the beads
She wonders how many times they have been coated with tears now
How many times her mother had cried , how many times her grandmother had cried
Beads..so old, from before even her grandmothers time
Now held in her hand, slipping away like grains of sand
Gently she touches them, realizing now for the first time
She holds history, history of the first people in her hands
Cupping them tighter in her hand, she walks out to the barn
Pulling a string of sinew down, she restrings the beads
Tying the knot tightly, placing it around her neck once again
Hearing now the whispers of the first people in her ears
Lifting her head now, walking tall and proud, she is Navajo

constant gardening for the lineage a spirit moving through time

nice piece

whispers soothing touch,,, Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm a calming

Love to you my daughter who carry's the spirit of many within her soul

Very nice...