We come together, the peoples, traveling miles of gravel and two lane blacktop.
Heading down highways and interstates,
Music playing, laughter, as miles fly by.
Because the drum, will sound.
The gourd clan will dance, and the people will enter the circle The dancers drive as they prepare, in their minds’ eyes,
Seeing the steps, leaps, and whirls.
Food is cooked, ready for the feasting.
The families arrive with appetite: appetite for dinner, and dance.
Dancers, or not, the real feast is in the eyes and touch of friends.
Drummers begin to beat in harmony, like the beating of the people’s hearts.
The colours lead while the veterans guard.
Prayers bless all; grand entry begins.
Rainbow colours in the grass dancers’ ribbons. Earth colors in the buckskins.
Time is now; earth and sky are here.
Pow wow time, blessed again.
