Gitche Gumee Gambol

You make me want to go up to Gitche Gumee Gambol.  Pictured rocks speak to me, in drumbeat vibrations, calling me to the Ojibwa shoreline.  Amid the splintered rocks, clear water shoals reflect a mirror of naked unguarded self.  I am a luminous spirit dressed in humble flesh.  I walk in graceful steps, my footprints the stamp of existence.  I listen to the rustling of the caterpillar eaten leaves amidst the hills, the rolling thunder of cloud people across indanthrene northern skies.  This is the profile of my ancestors.  At night the stars ignite like campfires across the plains at a distant lodge.  I climb these sandstone cliffs ascending into copper, iron and manganese.  Kneeling in sacred prayer amidst the promontories and thunder caves.