by Ethel Mortenson Davis
In the time
of the magic land,
great herds of elk
gather
for their migrating treks
across the highest points
of the ridges.
Black bears point
toward their long sleep.
New birds gather
to winter along
the dry plains of New Mexico
where plants hold
mysterious black seeds.
In the time
of the magic land,
our voices
become one with wood smoke
and roasting pinyon seeds,
and life again
is good.
fourwindowspress 
OH!
She emits an audible gasp of wonder and then
A sigh of contentment and acceptance, joining in
This great breathing to which everything contributes
She too another creature, a cell in one living body
I’m speechless. Ethel
Just beautiful, Ethel – I love it!
Our voices become one with wood smoke…beautiful image of spirit, fragrant and deep.
Ethel, there is a richness of imagery here that simply draws me into your poem … I am there to see, smell, hear, taste … and I ‘feel’ your words. Beautiful poem. xoxox