The skies gave of all

This is not the tale of the Tuchuk ways, of their survival, nor their heroics. I’m not here to share a glimpse of the lives lived around me. There are others that are far better to tell those tales. It is only my place to study the effects of my environment and seek the patterns that speak of what will be. For as far back as the eldest of our people can remember and sing the songs of the plains there have been Tuchuk facing the world the sky provides and a proud stubbornness that throws them back against all of the elements to thrive.

When the storms came they filled the air with a crackle of mystery and bravado that we were compelled to stand strong against. Thunder rolled across the plateaus and the rains came in glorious sights and sounds.

The will of the plains to meet the will of the Tuchuk. It all comes to me in intensities that have no names. Fear and tremble that beats in our souls like the thunder. The sodden earth upended not so different than the move north but from above rather than below. Wagons and determination jostled in the muddy ruts and the weakest to shatter with a dynamic that can cause injury farther than its own reach could touch. Every hort traveled pondered on our path both within and without. Worry.

Fires became difficult to light and maintain. Intuition, joy and peace glimmering low where it could be found although the lightning had sparked its own where it wished and not necessarily where we ourselves would have wished or desired. Arrogance, impatience sputtering before it caught to light our way and even then at times stilled dimmed low.

Wood soaked heavy, bowing, warping like our thoughts of the southern grasses or the weariness of our hearts that we could persevere. Anger, the strength that created determination. Resolve that if not I then my brother shall survive. The surge in our solar plexus that said I will hold him up so he shall live and thrive another day, only to feel the press of a hand that provided lift of our own. Together.

Metal, our mettle like the axles, harness and rings. Orderliness and rightness, the small connectors that drove us another day, another pasang to reach our destination. Home was the feel of the wind when the rains stopped and the rays of the sun warmed our cheeks. It was the kiss and embrace of the sky rejoicing.

We were almost there.

I breathed it all in and rejoiced with her.