***Her name is UmberDove
She was a painter. Oh, man that girl could paint!
She was a silversmith.
She handmade this "Migration" ring I wear around my finger.
This is how she described her creation:
"As I pierced and hand-sawed every single little hoof print, I felt myself migrating. White-tail deer prints.
I believe in where you are."
She loved all animals and rivers and birds and trees.
Feathers. Feathers. Feathers.
Sun bleached bones, antlers and skulls.
She ran to the mountains. She walked deer trails.
She was star dust (She was Golden).
She was a storyteller.
She was brave. A real warrior.
And she loved life.
Everyone who ever knew her, loved her.
Everyone who never met her, loved her.
We wrote letters.
I received words of comfort and encouragement and enlightenment from her when my very own brother was battling cancer. He is a professional drummer.
Everyday, he is trying to beat cancer like a drum.
I still have letters she wrote to me from coffee houses in Santa Cruz.
I still have letters and postcards she wrote to me when she moved to the Pacific Northwest.
She said, "With every track, striding a bit farther north, into a depth of sun I just now realize I've been missing."
Just two years ago, we made plans to go find the Wyoming wild horses together.
It never happened.
***Now I understand.
UmberDove was my friend.
I say with tremendous sadness, this gentle bird has flown.
And I will miss her.
***Om Tare Tuttare Ture Soha