This is our mother.

These are the bones of our mother, with the glacial outwash gravel that cut them from her body above.

These are some of our mother’s bones weathering in the sun and the cold.

Beautiful bones, eh.  They are just stone shadows of her heart, too. Her heart is the real show.

Notice how Rabbitbrush is at her side. Faithful companion! Here she is in the Autumn.

Here’s Owl, within our mother’s thoughts.

Note: I don’t expect you to see the story in this cliff. I’d just like to point out that the bones and the story are there but they have nothing to do with a European, a literal, a scientific, or a natural history understanding of the land. I’m kind of hoping, though, that the surprise of seeing the picture here, and the challenge of seeing an owl in what Enlightenment tradition has taught us is only rock, might give you a tiny glimpse of our mother, just for a flash. And then? Then it’s your story.