In the lovely mountains of eastern Tennessee,
I have a secret place to go where I hear the call of the Cherokee.
There a peace comes over me that I cannot explain,
sitting below the bluff, sheltered from the rain.
At one time the native Indian lived beneath its majestic dome,
a place where they were sheltered and a place they once called home.
I see remnants of their life still lingering in this place where they had lain,
when I look up at the rugged roof it still bears smoky stain.
Points for arrows, chipped with care from stone, lie about the sandy floor,
taking me to their world long ago, this place I've seen before.
I can almost smell the roasting deer and seem to hear voices from that time,
when they made it their abode down this hillside where I climb.
The walls of stone kept out all inwanted things such as thunderous rain,
and sheltered them from snow when winter came again.
The whinny of their ponies call like ghosts from the hollow when I close my eyes,
I see the graceful way they rode 'neath the endless skies.
Cold spring water comes from the the ground,
I taste what they tasted and know it was good,
in this secret place where the native Indian once had proudly stood.
My secret place has sandy ground where native children played with stones,
I feel the carved images on the walls and handle needles made from bones.
Berries are abundant here and I pick a few oh how good,
the hickory and elm I'm sure they used for cooking and firewood.
When it's time for me to leave and join the world once more,
it sounds like a gentle voice calls through the water's muted roar.
I hear it as if a hand is resting on mine and a voice is whispering,
"I'm glad you came. Each time you visit here it will always be the same.
Don't stay away so long, come more often to this secret place,
share with us from time to time the smile you wear upon your face.
We welcome you to feel our life we had when we were here,
maybe someday you can stay and eat with us the deer."
Then with regret I depart from my special place, up up the hill 'til I reach the top,
I want to stay longer with them but to break the spell I must not stop.
The smell of dampness clings to my clothes like perfume, I hesitate to wash it away.
but wash I must and with a smile on my face and peace in my heart I go on my way.
Only in my secret place true peace and calm contentment do I find,
with the call of the Cherokee and the visions they bring to my mind.
~ Norma Marek ~
© July 17, 2001
