Chapter 32
Episode 32
Poetry part 2
2 min read
The wind, a phantom hand, caresses stone,
Whispering secrets, ancient and unknown.
Of Shoshone dreams, and trails of dust and blood,
Where rivers carved their path through sun and flood.
The trapper’s fire, a fragile, hopeful spark,
Against the vastness of the endless dark.
His keenest eye, a bead upon the prey,
His French heart’s song, a prayer for brighter day.
McKenzie’s vision, etched against the sky,
A fort to stand, where shadows used to lie.
But whispers rise, from every rustling leaf,
Of ancient spirits, holding ancient grief.
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