shadow

Echoes of Arapaho

Echoes of Arapaho When we rode out of Thompson canyon, evening was a purple feather, quilled with pearl and tipped with sunset's flame. We thought perhaps a fallen chief had flung a benediction, his words still whispering along the wind: ``The gold of aspens light your mornings, may mountains star your paths of night, may rivers sing your spirit's longings and earth be fast beneath your pony's feet.'' Jo Anderson

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