As I step out into the morning Sun, I feel its warmth upon my skin. I mouth the words of the ancestors. I greet the Sun, I pray for monsoon rains. I pray for my people to become strong, to keep our traditions and language alive. In the north I see rolling coulds of rain, racing towards my pueblo like a deer running from a hunter. I can see the lightning and feel the thunder boom like the steady beat of my heart. As I lace up my running shoes I look to the clouds, making its way to my people. I run, my heart beat growing louder, I can feel my feet fly, I carry all the hopes and dreams of my people on my shoulders, all the knowledge that has been passed down from generation to generation fills my mind. I can hear the songs sung by my father, I will my feet to move. Rain clouds have filled the sky, I  hear the roaring thunder, see the lightning strike the dry ground. I can feel my body becoming stronger, I can feel my people becoming stronger. As a slow drizzle dampens the earth I can feel in every drop of rain, the prayers of my people being answered .Only then do I fly.