Incense to paint the air with the spirits of my ancestors and yours
Colors of the land wrapped round our heads and backs, protecting us the way a mother should
The strings and drums and wind songs that fill our lungs, they summon the souls of the past to live in the present
We give thanks
Never ending, never forgetting what she has done for us
We give thanks
Bow our heads where he rises, bow our heads where he sets
We cultivate that which she provides us
We are all of the same round, precious land
We hold hands and give thanks
A La Pacha
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