Книги: Dancing the Dream — Mark of the Ancients

He had lived in the desert all his life, but for me it was all new. «See that footprint in the sand?» he asked, pointing to a spot by the cliff. I looked as close as I could. «No, I don’t see anything.»

«That’s just the point.» He laughed. «Where you can’t see a print, that’s where the Ancient Ones walked.»

We went on a little farther, and he pointed to an opening, high up on the sandstone wall. «See that house up there?» he asked. I squinted hard. «There’s nothing to see.»

«You’re a good student.» He smiled. «Where there’s no roof or chimney, that’s where the Ancient Ones are most likely to have lived.»

We rounded a bend, and before us was spread a fabulous sight — thousands upon thousands of desert flowers in bloom. «Can you see any missing?» he asked me. I shook my head. «It’s just wave after wave of loveliness.»

«Yes,» he said in a low voice. «Where nothing is missing, that’s where the Ancient Ones harvested the most.»

I thought about all this, about how generations had once lived in harmony with the earth, leaving no marks to scar the places they inhabited. At camp that night I said, «You left out one thing.»

«What’s that?» he asked.

«Where are the Ancient Ones buried?»

Without reply, he poked his stick into the fire. A bright flame shot up, licked the air, and disappeared. My teacher gave me a glance to ask if I understood this lesson. I sat very still, and my silence told him I did.