“If we merge mercy with might, and might
with right,
Then love becomes our legacy,
And change, our children’s birthright.”
Amanda Gorman
I’ve witnessed miracles, and seen shapeshifters take new forms to escape by feather and foot. One sprinted into the desert, disappearing into a swirling, amber-colored dust. The other was lifted by wind to go up beyond the turbulent flow of alley and calle.
I asked a street cobbler in India if he’d repair my broken sandal. 
Five-hundred-rupee sir,” he said. I shook my head. No, too much.
Looking at me with a toothless smile he started laughing, then exploded in a loud, unsettling cackle, a fused wail, and a jeer, unlike anything I’d ever heard. He didn’t seem to put forth any effort, yet his thin-bodied yodel was louder than a garbage truck.
He stood to walk away but looked back over his shoulder and laughed. His threadbare pants, worn down to nothing, completely exposed his butt cheeks. I was right behind him when he turned a corner into a narrow side alley. Seconds later, I looked to see where he went. I saw buildings but no windows or doors. The alley was empty yet filled with echoes. A crow cawed and lifted to fly, going up like a funeral in feathers.
Two decades later in Northeast Arizona, I arrived at a remote location for an appointment with someone known to the Navajo community as a ‘medicine man.’ His granddaughter met several of us and said, “You’re here to see grandfather? He was right here.”
She led us around a small Hogan from the east to the west where I saw a roadrunner making time to get away.… read more...
