Signs Of My Passing

Signs of my passing, so far away, Out in the burning sands. Remain in the Mojave to this day, I put them there, with my own hands. Out in the desert far from home, I stacked stones on the desert ground. To find my way there all alone, With my own hands I lay them down. So many arrows to point the way, To all my favorite haunts. Canyons, washes, I knew where they lay, As I set out on my daily jaunts. Little markers made of stones, Arrows pointing to some thing. Be it shaded areas, or animal bones, Or places I heard the wind sing. As far as I know, they are still there, Someday I'll see them once again. When I return to that land so fair, My Mojave, devoid of rain.