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And point with gratitude To these the artifacts you made in eons past, The signature of man's slow rise Is on each tool, each point, each axe And we can sense the human impact still. Who smoked this pipe? Who threw this spear? And was it made for enemy-or deer? I kneel upon mountain circled flat To feel the ancient ashes yield, and see A kinship gift which you have left for me, I grasp within my hand a perfect tool So long ago chipped carefully from stone, And know but for the timing of our fates It might have been my own, I touch with care its edges keen and fine, Where once you placed your thumb There now is mine. |
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| Below is Kat's California Collection |
