Rain falls gently on soft bellowing clouds.
Rain falls hard with lighting and a thunderous approach.
The sky is crying… when it rains.
The sky is crying…when it rains.
She opened her eyes slowly as she awoke from a meaningful sleep.
She is an indigenous woman with indigenous ways, she is mother earth.
Without a word, she granted me a good morning sigh, Then, Then she said to me, she said…Fly Raven Bird.
The first time I met her, I tried to impress her with my traditional roots
But my contemporary facade kept interrupting my story.
I no longer had my warrior braids down to my waist or the patches of social justice on my Levi Sleeves. Today my “Indian Power” now stands between two worlds, the traditional and the modern, both beckoning my honor and loyalty.
Hand painted with brush overlays/transition on canvas