And I want to find that circle of stones,
That sits high on the green peak above the valley,
That sits well above the high ground,
Of the valley that towers over the desert below.
There I will walk around each of the nine circles,
Making my way inward.
There I will chant some song that comes,
And I will sprinkle water around like the others do,
When they want to bless a part of creation.
I will stay a while and feel the blue sky world
That hovers over these fields.
I will look towards the forest to the south,
Towards the desert floor to the west,
Towards the bald mountain to the north,
That I call the Montana de los Palos Hablandos.
I will gaze out to the double peak to the east called La Paz.
La Paz looks like a midget from my perch.
I sit on the Montana Sagrada para Gueros,
So that the real holy mountain called "Quemado",
Will have one less Guero
Walking up its steep slopes on this quiet day.
I will go there too of course.
And I will come to their magic circle of stones
Knowing that only a few miles away,
There is another stone circle,
On another mountain.
And they are both Holy.
As are all peoples.
There are many mountains.
And there are many ways.
But there is only one earth.
And only one people.