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They were camping
in ancient ways
beside ancient rivers
when their singing began,
when their dancing began.
They learned their songs
from winds howling across mountains,
waters crashing over cliffs.
They also learned their songs
from whirring of hummingbird wings,
patting of deer feet,
slithering of snakes.
They learned their dances
from wolves playing on snow,
bears catching salmon in creeks,
eagles soaring above cliffs.
They also learned their dances
from winds bending pines,
rivers rushing under sunlight.
They taught their songs to their children.
They taught their dances to their children.
They also taught their children to listen
to winds howling across mountains,
to hummingbird wings whirring;
they taught their children to watch
wolves playing on snow,
rivers rushing under sunlight;
so that their children,
and their children's children
could sing new songs,
could dance new dances.
We are camping
in modern ways
beside a modern river.
Let the singing begin.
Let the dancing begin.
We learn our songs
from computers singing across space,
phones ringing in the dark.
We also learn our songs
from people chattering in restaurants,
cheering at ice hockey games,
laughing at Sunday matinees.
We learn our dances
from snowmobiles sliding across mountains,
plane wings dipping among clouds,
elevators rising through buildings.
We also learn our dances
from mothers pushing baby carriages,
from fathers coaching t-ball.
We teach our songs to our children.
We teach our dances to our children.
We also teach our children to listen
to computers singing across space,
to people laughing at Sunday matinees;
We teach our children to watch
snowmobiles sliding across mountains,
fathers coaching t-ball;
so that our children,
and our children's children,
can sing new songs,
can learn new dances.
