As a young dark-haired boy, his grandfather put him on an old roan nag, and together they rode to the end of the earth. Grandfather sang the whole way and his massive horse would prance and step sideways, as he sang of a ancient world that young Fox never knew..
Fox imagined a young world of monsters and gods. As they rode high among the clouds, Fox saw only faint traces- lava flows, crumbling stone buildings, and vivid drawings on the cliffs.
As a young man, Fox and his father raced across the reservation in an old 77 mustang, and his father pointed out the places his grandfathers built. The Schools, the farms, the houses, the highways… All the great things that were put into motion, but came to a stop in his time…
Fox would often seek out the rusted old car sticking out of the sand. He would wander through the sand dunes and and sit in the passengers seat to ask it questions without answers while he stared out the broken windows..
Fox, a man, would walk among the silent mountains his grandfathers sang about, he would walk among the great concrete monuments his fathers talked about. Fox wondered what he would leave that would be told in story…
Fox, a grey haired man looks for room to make a place, in the visions of his grandfathers, and in the places left by his fathers…
nezontherez 