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He sits,— bemused, —brown, luminous eyes aglow—
Thoughts—feelings—insights—passions—Depths never before experienced—
With connection to spirit—communion of souls—
Reverently he measures,—studies,— plans, —dreams—
Forming the first gleaming, silver feather, then another,And another—
A mighty wingspan is created—noble head—savage beak—
Poised in thunderous flight—terrifying—inspirational—Awesome—Tamed by no man—
Loyal companion to Grandfather—Champion of the gods—
Fierce eyes—behold the world—behold his domain.He stands, —humble—amazed—brown, luminous eyes aglow—
What has the Creator chosen to create through his hands?
What wondrous world has deemed him "The one with the gift"
The one with the miraculous hands—that do the bidding of
spirit—Perform the sacred rites of creation—
Who is this man—this Cherokee—this spiritual warrior?
The old ones tell us that this is the man who listens—
—Listens to the inner voice—the Grandfather’s voice—
Creating the memories,—the passions,—the fantasies—The sacred communion of souls.
This Cherokee—this solitary man—the hands of the Creator.





