The Sky Remembers Her
Her hair flows like river smoke,
brushed with feathers,
whispering stories
The stars once told the earth.
In her silence,
butterflies gather—
not to land,
but to listen.
She is not wind,
Yet every breath she takes
shifts the sky,
soft as prayer, old as moonlight.
The sky remembers her—
not as a name,
But as a song
carried by wings.
Serin Alar
#nativeamericanwisdom
The Sky Remembers Her
Her hair flows like river smoke,
brushed with feathers,
whispering stories
The stars once told the earth.
In her silence,
butterflies gather—
not to land,
but to listen.
She is not wind,
Yet every breath she takes
shifts the sky,
soft as prayer, old as moonlight.
The sky remembers her—
not as a name,
But as a song
carried by wings.
🎨 Serin Alar
#nativeamericanwisdom
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