Up through and past October Aspen still some with color yellow, to branches bare, to snowflakes in the air, beyond the firs to Little Raven, no tracks in the fresh fallen snow, a haven, walking by little summer meadows at the beginning of a long winter sleep, the stillness and solitude are deep, standing under the branches of now white evergreen my mind turns to thoughts of things now unseen, to people who lived this land long ago, before the gold, people we call Arapaho, I stop and sit on a rock and in the wind it seems I hear a voice talk, this place you now roam. to us was not a wild, it was our home, nature’s sounds were all we heard and like in you our  hearts were stirred