The other pieces that I chose from this new collection
is going to sort of focus on the land that we know here
and for many of us, the land that we love and appreciate
in the Tucson basin area and the surrounding area.
And this piece is, just call it "Proclamation."
It just has a one note to it, one place name that
if you've lived for any time here,
you know that the community of San Xavier,
it's real name is Wa:k.
So there's a reference to Wa:k.
And the piece is called "Proclamation."
And perhaps you will maybe recognize yourself in here
or recognize your friends in your.
"Proclamation"-- "Cuk Son is a story.
Tucson is a linguistic alternative.
This story is in the many languages still heard
in this place of Black Mountains.
They are in the echo of lost forgotten languages heard here
even before the people arrived.
The true story of this place recalls
people walking deserts all their lives
and continuing today, if only in their dreams.
The true story is ringing in their footsteps,
in a place so quiet they can hear their blood
and moving through their veins.
Their stories give shape to the mountains
encircling this place.
Wa:k is the story of water memories of this desert.
Citizens gravitate to Sabino Canyon, the humming, buzzing,
clicking, of water life, the miracle of desert
streams on smooth boulders.
Rocks, sediment, older than life itself serve as reminders.
It should be a necessary for little sticky notes
to remind us what a desert place is, a place dependent on rains
of summer, light dusting of snow, the rarity of dry beds
as rebel rivers.
It is real desert people who lift their faces upward
with the first signs of moisture.
They know how to Inhale properly,
recognizing the aroma of creosote in the distance.
Relieved the cycle is beginning again,
these people are to be commended.
It is others who lament the heat of a June day,
simultaneously finding pride on surviving the heat, a dry heat.
These individuals should simply be tolerated.
Opposed to those who move from one air
conditioned environment to another,
never acknowledging the heat of summer,
being grateful for November when the temperatures drop below 80,
complaining of the lack of seasons in the desert,
heading for mountains to see colors.
These people, well, what can we say?
And we must feel for the dogs of Tucson,
who bark as if they belong to somebody
and who before the rains, wish they
were a color other than black."
So I tried.
To include everyone in there.