| OCR Text |
Show Ghost Dance After the f a ll clouds gather in tribes. They f i l l the canyons with smokey silence, s h i f t restlessly in layers of white storing up f l i n t s of ice. The drums of winter call for a long sleep of days and yet I awake and work in darkness to watch the gray morning pad s o f t l y in on the chil led air. This is the f i r s t ceremony of winter and I do not want to miss it in hibernation- f i r s t there is the dance of challenge and gray horse clouds prance down the edges of the mountains, gallop slow motion through the stubbly fields of the lower hi 1 I s , and withdraw halfway follows a subtle and deadly c h i ll seeping through the rows of orchards, f r o s t forms in passing, and limber fence strands freeze. |
