Most of my regular readers will have heard this before, but I rather recently moved here to the shores of Lake Erie. Before that I lived for a long time in western Canada, in the province of Alberta – both in the city of Calgary, and then in the foothills to the southwest. One of the many small towns that dot the area is Okotoks (OH-k’tokes). The name comes directly from the Blackfoot language, and means, literally, Big Rock. In the days before European people came to the area, the big rock that sits just a few miles west of the town was a prominent marker for the First Nations peoples, indicating the crossing-place of the river that is known today as the Sheep River (Rocky mountain bighorn sheep). The huge split rock formation is the world’s largest known glacial erratic, carried for who knows how long on the back of the last retreating ice age glacier, until the ice melted out from under it and left it stranded out in the open. It’s fenced in now, to prevent people from climbing on it, or defacing it with graffiti, but I’ve been there several times before the fence, and stood there at the base and soaked up the ‘timeless’ feeling. Or maybe the feeling is more like a whole lot of time. You can’t help but wonder whose hands, over many thousands of years, have touched the same rock you are feeling under your palm. You can almost hear the drums and the singing.
Here is a video of my favorite pow wow singers, Northern Cree. Often, women will come and stand behind the drummers and sing on octave higher, as they do here. I love the sound all the voices make together. I can close my eyes and be back there on the open land with the wind whistling past my ears. Living on the lake is great, but the mountains and foothills remain my ‘spiritual home.’
Video from YT member aries32487 The photo is obviously an old one from before the fence, and I don't know the source, so I don't know who to credit.
The Cloud Messenger (Meghadūta) is a lyric poem by the respected Indian poet, Kālidāsa. The poem centers around a yaksa in exile. Longing for his beloved, waiting for him on a Himalayan mountain, he asks a cloud to take a message to her. The sights he tells the cloud it will see on its way make up most of the poem.
The idea of recording observations appeals to me. I thought The Cloud Messenger was the perfect title for a blog about the journey that we all make as we move through our days.
I'm a baby boomer who grew up dancing in the streets of Detroit during the classic Motown years, lived beside the Rocky Mountains for many years, now retired and living (and writing full time) in S. Ontario. I have one blog for rock 'n' roll oldies, and one for nature, poetry and life along the Lake.