Spirit Talker/Wounded Soldier

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After several years had passed with her adventures into Haiti.  Celeste, older in age, became bored with her daily routine.  Her last daughter finally moved out of her home to start her own life, while her husbands drinking problem didn’t change.  He controlled it for a while, but picked the habit back up.  Celeste became withdrawn inside herself, knowing that he would never change. She thought if she let him be who he needed to be, and stop her nagging, he would change, and learn that he didn’t need alcohol as a muse.  Sadly, it didn’t work out that way.  It affected their relationship in sex again, but Celeste was still in her thinking mode with Valis.  She didn’t need the closeness with her husband like she use too.  Valis filled the lost feeling that she lacked in love-making.   All she had to do is remember the time she had with the captain of the SWAT Team, and it ebbed away the lonely feelings.  She did not take advantage of the communication porthole between the soul-mates.  There were times, she so wanted to hear his voice again, but refrained and stayed true to her man. Her way of thinking was “Let lying dogs lay,” so she never instigated the situation further. That didn’t mean that Valis didn’t tried, but she would never reply.

In the late month of August, in New Mexico, the need to hunt weighed heavily upon her soul. Her dreams of a hunt, became her waking thought every day. Today was the day she would begin her journey into the forest, backpacking with her painted horse, “Tru Quadrant,” alone.  Her hopes were to stay about two weeks in the forest, hunting elk or wild sheep.  Her husband wanted to go with her, but she refused him, saying she needed time to herself.

Dressed up in her childhood tan deerskin outfit, she had made when she was a teenager.  She was amazed it still fit her aged body, after all those years ago, but more snugger.  The last time she remembered wearing it was when she began her life in Los Angeles.  She felt the soft skin with awe, as she looked at herself in the full length mirror.  “Such a long time ago, wonder what my husband will say when he see’s it?” Celeste softly spoke to herself.  Celeste was very private about her childhood life.  Never telling anyone what she had endured, she hid her life away in a travel trunk, under lock and key.  She quickly braided her long curly hair into a braid, topping it off with an Indian headband.   Then slipped into her moccasins, finishing it off by placing her knife into the sleeve of the soft boots. Like routine, she put her cowgirl hat on, and walked out of her bedroom into the kitchen, for some morning java.

When she entered the kitchen, her husband gawked at her outfit.  Being caught off guard, he quickly recovered from her intense gaze.  “Where in the hell, did you get that outfit, Celeste?” He said with astonishment.  “I’ve had it since I was a teenager, I thought to pull it out for my backpacking trip, you like?” Celeste dared him to say anything else, but he did not.  He closed the gap between them, both standing face to face. When he gently touched her cheek with amusement, he spoke to her in a turned on fashion.  “Come Pocahontas, let me do you before you leave?”

“You had your time darlin’ to do me, if I don’t leave now, I won’t find a camping site in daylight.  Sorry to burst your bubble dude, but I am on a time schedule. Let’s pick this up when I get back, okay?”  Her husband gently kissed her, she reciprocated. When they broke apart he offered her a cup of coffee.  She gladly accepted, “Do you need anything else, my love?” Her husband offered.  “No thank you, everything is packed, I don’t want to carry too much.  If I need food, I will have Wolf help me.”

“I wish Celeste, you would take your cell phone,” he offered with care.   “How many times do I need to say, where I am going, there is no service for cells.  So if I get into a pickle, wolf will be there.” Celeste needed to leave, wanting to be in the open skies to see the sunrise. She kissed her husband, and downed the last drops of her coffee, before she headed out on her adventure.

The minute she walked out of her casita, her horses snickered a greeting.  She feed them all, and pulled out her trusty black and white-painted stallion.  She geared him up for the long haul, while he ate his breakfast. When finished she grabbed her bow and arrows, placing them with care behind her back, she hoisted herself up upon the great tall stallion, and took off like the wind.

Celeste loved to ride in the arroyo’s.  The sandy grooves from the great water run off’s, told a story of many raging waters that had passed by with great force.  Forming a huge channel heading to the Rio Grande River.  The gorge’s housed many pack of wild dogs or coyotes. Making it a very dangerous area in the dusk and dawn hours.  She took short cuts through many pueblos, throughout the gullies, staying hidden from the public.  Respecting the sac-rite sites of the American Indians land, she proceed in stealth down the arroyo’s heading towards the red mountains.

Quadrant and her raced to the mountain top before time ran out.  She wanted to be on top of this one mountain, to catch the morning rays of dawn, peeking over the Sangre de Cristos.  Before she entered the deep forest, heading into the forgotten valleys of the Colorado Sangre de Cristo’s.

Just in time, and out of breath, Quad was grateful to Celeste when she stopped, unbridled him, and let him roam eating the last of the buffalo grass. With her slender steel coffee thermos, she poured her a hot cup of coffee, and nestled in to watch the beautiful sunrise upon the ground.  She very rarely missed a sunrise, it was her only time to mediate for the new day.  It didn’t take no time at all, for the sun to peek over the mountains. Celeste took off her hat, and let the morning rays fill her soul, with vitamin D.

Words did not come to Celeste’s lips, she was bathed in the rays beauty and warmth. When Quad snorted an alert, Celeste followed the horses movement to where the sound could be coming.  Her trained eyes caught the beauty of Wolf in full stride, running to catch up with Celeste.  She smiled, knowing Wolf knew her ware about’s at all time.  She turned her head back to view the watermelon morning skies of New Mexico.

History of why the Sangre de Cristo’s are called their name:

The Sangre de Cristo Mountains (Spanish for “Blood of Christ“) are the southernmost subrange of the Rocky Mountains. They are located in southern Colorado and northern New Mexico in the United States. The mountains run from Poncha Pass in South-Central Colorado, trending southeast and south, ending at Glorieta Pass, southeast of Santa Fe, New Mexico. The mountains contain a number of fourteen thousand foot peaks in the Colorado portion, as well as all the peaks in New Mexico which are over thirteen thousand feet.

The name, Spanish for “blood of Christ“, is said to come from the red color of the range at some sunrises and sunsets, especially when the mountains are covered with snow, alpenglow. However the particular origin of the name is unclear, and the name in fact only dates back to the early 19th century. Before that time the terms “La Sierra Nevada”, “La Sierra Madre”, “La Sierra”, and “The Snowies” (used by English speakers) were used.  Sometimes the archaic Spanish spelling “Christo” is used.

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