Orenda

Snow blindness.  February dissolves into opaque perylene gray.  Spirituality, infused in these jagged rocks, burnt umber forests, ice shelf shores and anthraquinone skies.  I glimpse the iridescent fading afterimage of the Huron Nation.  It was in a deep forest of black oak, where majestic savannahs broke choking briar thickets, that I came upon a solitary long house.  Before entering, three Wyandot sisters appeared before me offering up beaver skins as gifts.  They wore the most beautiful beaded necklaces and gorgeous porcelain bracelets.  As the snow quietly melted in the comforting mid-afternoon warm, I felt my orenda just like sunlight upon my face, and the magical mystical power of every living thing that surrounded me in this wondrous immense wilderness home.  Thus I discovered my divine pulse, the vital spiritual force that makes up this magnificent earth, infinite universe and the aura of distant flickering stars.