STORMY HIKES

STORMY HIKES ———

JIM PECHA, B.ARCH. CHRISTIAN ARTIST,
MINISTER OF CREATIVITY, COPYRIGHT 2014 ———-

The stiff wind fought us for every step forward, but it was invigorating. We were hiking to the lower foothills where the walls of the deep arroyo would give us protection from the weather and we could finally hear each other. She was trying to tell me about her father’s stories of when his Father was young and the grasses in this area were as high as the horses bellies, before cows started grazing here. There was an old pueblo near the arroyo, which ran water most of the year from the mountain runoff. Malaina had searched for pottery shards and arrow heads since a child and had a bucket full at her home.

When we reached the arroyo, we jumped in and leaned against the edge for protection and relief. The ruins could be seen on the opposite side, the remaining walls were irregular as they slowly eroded away back into the earth. I had never found an arrowhead; so this was exciting. She said there were pottery hills where the people threw their old broken pots and broken arrows from hunting animals. After we recovered from the hike against the wind, we began searching the mounds of shards. I was surprised when I found one, but it was so small, she said most of them were.

Then she told me how she would come here and sit inside the pueblo walks and try to imagine what life was like when people lived here. As she began telling her stories combined with her Grandfsthers memories, the wind stopped, the sun came through a hole in the clouds and everything was peaceful and quiet. The sun warmed us up quickly; so we took off our jackets. Malaina wore a cross around her neck like so many women. As she told how the ancient people seldom wore clothes, she unbuttoned her shirt, breathing heavy and looking at me with glazed eyes. She said she had always wanted to make love in the ruins like the old days and pulled me toward one of the smaller rooms. She said, “hurry while the sun is warm on us and the winds are calm.” There was soft sand inside the ruin from years of winds blowing over the pueblo. She removed her clothing and laid down on the sand, but I couldn’t merge that quickly into her fantasy; so she just closed her eyes and caressed herself, moaning with her thoughts. I asked if she wanted me to leave, but she said, “no, be with me.” She simply enjoyed my looking at her naked body as she writhed in front of me, in the warm sunshine, in her imagination. Her mood changed suddenly as the clouds covered the sun and the cold winds returned. She thanked me for sharing the moment with her as she dressed and we put our jackets back on.

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