Where the earth meets the sky on the mountain,
An old squaw spirit opens and closes the doors
Of Day and Night every day at the proper hours
And works the wonders of nature in the divine design.
The vault of heaven, the dome of Sky God’s palace
She frescoes with celestial ephemerals every night
With new moons hung and old moons cut into stars
Sprinkled across the nightly firmament golden bright.
The garden of the earth, the parterre of Earth Goddess
She waters with rains spun out of soft summer clouds
Woven by early morning’s gossamer cobwebs and dews
Flake after flake, like those of fluffy white cotton balls.
The old squaw spirit, the wonderful divine artist
Adorns the heaven’s frescoes every night with cheer;
The old squaw spirit, the wondrous fairy gardener
Cherishes nature’s garden every day with delight.
P.S. This poem is based upon my reading of Washington Irving’s ‘Rip Van Winkle’ in which the fictional historian character named Mr. Knickerbocker recounts the native American legend of an old squaw spirit living on the Catskill Mountains in New York. I envision her as a fantastic fairy version of Michelangelo frescoing the vault of the celestial Sistine Chapel and as a fabulous gardener tending the earthly garden with tenderness and quiet assiduity. What a fascinating vision of a magical magnitude it is!