A boy sitting on his back porch looks up to his father, "Daddy, what is that?"

"That's the Spanish Peaks, son. A long time ago, there were Indian tribes that lived around here. They had a name for those two mountains."

"What was it, daddy?"

"Wahatoya. It means Breast of Mother Earth.”

The boy giggled and asked, “Breasts of Mother Earth?”

“Yes, son. You see, the Utes and many other tribes saw those mountains as a motherly figure. They believed that Wahatoya held the rain and they had to ask her to release it.”

“We haven’t had rain for months, daddy. If we ask her, will she release it for us.”

“I don’t know son. I guess you really have to believe. I’m not too sure I believe enough. I’m just not sure anymore.”

I’m a long way from home, dad
I can feel a mighty wind sweep
Through the cityscape
Which replaced the fields and mountains

I’ve lost everything, dad
But my own name
And my madness
Left to embrace

The concrete is hard, dad
And cannot reap all which I have sewn
I am in desperate need of rain
And something in which to believe

“Then the Spanish Conquistadores came in search of gold, son. The killed the Indians that tried to protect Wahatoya. The ones that ran, went south and west. The Conquistadores renamed the mountains, Spanish Peaks.”

“That seems mean of them, daddy.”

“Yeah, that’s just how the world is sometimes, son. Just plain, down right mean.”

I am coming home, dad
Burying my face in Wahatoya
Breathe in the clouds
And spew a fierce storm

I will fertilize the earth, dad
The landscape of my life
Plant my heart’s desires
And harvest those forgotten dreams

I see them over the horizon, dad
I wish you were here
To share the rain
And all in which I have to believe

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