Ceremony of the Cold Moon Month

Enna Horn

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Woman-Walks-Ahead spends time with her horse on a fog-drenched morning. Only woman. Only horse. Black horse stands there, coarse hair coiling on the ground after a good brush. Smoke wafts from the thin top of a nearby house’s chimney.

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Woman-Came-Before appears in the open door. A question buds: what’s on your mind?

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I have a lot on my mind.

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Such as?

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I think so much, one of these days, I’m going to run out of thoughts.

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Stiff-haired brush scrapes dirt off the black horse. Bright red flash of a cardinal up in the tree. The flooded river gurgles around great shards of rock. The Corn Mother’s crops show their tassels in the field across the road.

 

Just tell me what you’re thinking about.

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Grandfather came down from the mountain and wept. Home became just a word to him; I search for what it means. What do I want for breakfast? There’s a lot of chores that need to get done. Haul the hay. Muck the stall. Feed the animals. The country of the black eagles has a red flag; you wear a red coat beneath your black hair. Have you ever wondered what kinds of moss can survive in the winter? Grandmother could wear no tassels on her corn dress. She walked the dirt trail named after tears and shed none of her own. Names become masks. One day, I’m going to have my own place. Things seem to be going downhill, but they’ll look up. Did you want to go on a walk later? 

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Woman-Came-Before ponders this for a moment. Then she says: Take a breath.

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Woman-Walks-Ahead takes a breath.

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What is in that breath?

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Rain. Alfalfa. Your perfume. Honey from the shampoo.

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Is it clear air?

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It’s clear air.

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Sometimes, you breathe in clear air. Other times, you breathe in the mist of your ancestors’ remains, and it turns your insides grey. Both times, you are not forgetting them.

Woman-Came-Before leaves the barn to make breakfast at the nearby house with the chimney smoke. 

 

Woman-Walks-Ahead ponders this for a moment. Clear air. Grey insides. Let’s go on a walk later. Black horse, corn tassels, swear an oath to the land. Things remain green. The fruits dangling from the trees are not strange fruits, but ones that are meant to be there. The winter will be cold this year. 

 

Footprints left behind in the mud for a hot meal. The sun rises.