Deja Vous - by lillian Morpork

I had been traveling through the southwest on a belated winter holiday, enjoying the warmer temperatures and the burgeoning growth. It was such a wonderful change from the cold winter weather of Southern Ontario, with calf deep snow and bitter winds. Now I stand in the Verde Valley, looking at the new growth of spring, and feel the joy of new life, new beginnings. All around me there is evidence of spring; on the ponderosa pines, the pinyon Jupiter. The grassland is greening, even the desert scrub shows new growth. The banks of the river and the wetlands nearby echo with the sounds of life, with the silvery tones of the water as counterpoint to the twittering of birds and the clicking, buzzing and rustling of unseen creatures.



Yet as I stand there, immersed in the stark beauty, it is the rocky cliff that draws my heart. The dwelling there pulls me, calls me. It seems to be welcoming me home. Yet I have never been here before. What is it that calls me, pulls me? Pondering, I move closer, unconsciously following the faint remains of a path, until I am close enough to see the ruins high up in a huge cave opening, facing south. They bring up confused pictures in my mind, a rapid kaleidoscope of people; warriors returning from a hunt, mothers tending children, grinding corn, sewing clothing, elders in deep discussion – a montage of life. And some of the faces that flash through my mind I know. Yet how can that be? Those people were obviously Native Americans, I am English/Scottish Canadian. What connection can there possibly be?

I pause, staring in wonder, then move closer until I am standing at the foot of the great cliff. Looking up, I can see places where one could climb, places for hands and feet, leading up. I feel such a strong pull, that before I realise what I’m doing, I am making my precarious way up the cliff. It is a long and tiring climb, but at last I stand on the ledge, looking at the remains of the building, and the feeling that I know this place is stronger than ever.

I walk along the ledge, and find an entrance into the building. I can only see a little, where the sun of early afternoon lights it, but it seems to be empty. I take one step closer, and suddenly, I hear voices - a woman’s voice, chiding a child; several men’s voices, discussing the day’s hunt. As I listen, it comes to me that they are not speaking English – it is a language I think I have never heard. How can that be? The only language I know is English, so how can I understand what people are saying in another language? Fear grips me, and I stand just on the doorstep, unable to move. The voices continue, and my sight starts to fade, until at last, there is nothing but darkness. I feel nothing, my body is gone. What is happening to me?!