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Jay Stone, 39899 Balentine Drive, Suite 200, Newark, California City, CA (2026)

10/17/2026

Beneath the Shell of Time

Beneath a turtle vast as night, an elder tends the flame;
The forest darkens around him, and the wind repeats his name.
Above his head, the patterned shell holds spirals worn and deep,
Like paths that turn through memory long after footsteps sleep.

The sunset gathers in the pines, then settles on his hands;
Those hands have buried loved ones, raised a home, and worked the land.
He watches sparks ascend the dark, each bright enough to show
A moment of the reaching roots that wind through earth below.

The turtle lifts its weathered head toward something past the trees;
Its shadow shelters stone and fire, its breath disturbs the leaves.
Within its amber eye, the elder sees a younger face—
A child beside another fire, in this remembered place.

He hears his mother speaking as she draws him from the cold;
Her words return in fragments, but her touch has not grown old.
He speaks her name into the dusk, then names the others too;
The flames lean close, and through the shell a thread of gold shines through.

For one still breath, the forest seems to stand inside that light;
The roots become long rivers, and the branches fill with night.
He feels the weight of all the years, the tenderness and grief,
Then hears a small, familiar sound: rain touching a dry leaf.

He lays another branch upon the slowly sinking fire;
Beyond the shelter of the shell, the stars climb ever higher.
By dawn, a child will join him, bringing questions to the stone—
And he will make room by the warmth, as once someone made his own.
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🎨 Artist and author: Jay Stone
❤ Thank you so much for liking this artwork!
Buy it here 👉 https://nativerootsapparel86.com/j0024

10/16/2026

The Land Beneath His Skin

At sunset, where the water lays its gold upon the sand,
A dark horse stands as though he hears a voice beneath the land.
The wind moves through his midnight mane; the tide surrounds his feet,
And somewhere deep within his chest, the lake and mountains meet.

Tall pines rise through his shadowed flank, their roots beyond my sight;
A hidden sun burns softly there against the coming night.
He carries slopes I cannot climb and shores I cannot name,
Yet something in that distant light remembers why I came.

My grandmother once spoke of trails her father used to ride,
Of horses finding passages along the mountainside.
I thought those roads had vanished where the years had settled deep—
Until I saw them in his coat, awakening from sleep.

I step toward him through the shallows; rings of amber spread.
He turns an ear toward something that the quiet has not said.
His breath is warm against my hand; beyond it, cold winds rise,
And all the distance I have crossed lies trembling in his eyes.

Beneath us, his reflection holds another forest still;
The water keeps a second sun below a second hill.
A wave rolls in, the branches break, the golden ridges bend—
Then gather slowly into place, as memories gather again.

He leaves before the first stars show, his hoofprints filling blue;
The sea draws silver through each mark and lets the darkness through.
I carry home the names I know, and ask for those unknown—
While somewhere past the fading light, his hidden forests grow.
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🎨 Artist and author: Jay Stone
❤ Thank you so much for liking this artwork!
Buy it here 👉 https://nativerootsapparel86.com/j0015

10/16/2026

The Horse Who Carries Home

He stands where evening gathers its last embers from the sky,
With silver tangled in his mane and mountains in his eye.
Across his pale and quiet flank, the clouds unfold their flame;
A valley wakes beneath his skin, too deep for words to name.

There, pines lean close to winter streams that thread the sleeping land,
And a tipi holds the fading warmth of someone’s careful hands.
Its doorway opens toward the dusk, a small and sheltered glow—
The place my grandmother described when storms began to blow.

She spoke of horses crossing snow, of journeys made in rain,
Of loved ones welcomed at the door, then setting out again.
Now, in this horse’s steady gaze, her voice returns to me,
As clear as water under ice, still moving, still unseen.

The mountains rise within his chest; the sunset fills his breath.
He carries all that distance holds, and all that silence keeps.
I reach toward him, and for a moment, time becomes a stream;
The living shore beneath my feet draws close to shores of dream.

I hear no words, but something stirs beneath his windblown mane:
The warmth of hands I used to hold, the scent of coming rain.
His heartbeat travels through my palm, a slow and measured sound;
I feel the years beneath it move like water underground.

When darkness settles on the peaks, he turns toward the west;
The little doorway on his flank still glimmers near his chest.
I watch until the silver mane dissolves into the blue—
Then face the path before me with a light I must keep true.
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🎨 Artist and author: Jay Stone
❤ Thank you so much for liking this artwork!
Buy it here 👉 https://nativerootsapparel86.com/j0014

10/16/2026

Where the Four Paths Meet

Within the turtle’s golden shell, four silent watchers wait,
Their eyes hold worlds beyond the veil, where dreams and daylight meet.
An eagle lifts its gaze above the clouds that hide the sun,
And finds a thread of silver where the earth and heavens join.

The bear keeps winter’s quiet dreams beneath its heavy fur,
Where seeds sleep in the frozen soil and hidden rivers stir.
It teaches me to face the dark, to let my wounds draw breath—
For roots grow deep in places that the light has never met.

The wolf walks through the amber dusk, its shadow long and lean;
It hears a voice beyond the ridge, where nothing can be seen.
I listen, and the empty hills grow crowded with the sound
Of those whose names I carry, though their footsteps leave no ground.

The bison bears the weight of storms across the endless plain;
The grasses bow beneath its breath, then slowly rise again.
Its patient eyes hold something that no passing years erase:
The strength to stand through sorrow without turning into stone.

At the center, turquoise glows like water touched by dawn;
Four pathways gather round its light, yet none can lead alone.
The turtle holds their turning world against the depth of night,
As though the stars were scattered seeds awaiting their first light.

I bring the names my elders spoke and all I cannot mend;
I lay them in the golden ring, where every road must bend.
A feather trembles in the hush; the distant thunder clears—
And for a breath, the earth feels close enough to hear my fears.

No answer breaks the stillness, yet I rise with open hands;
The dawn has found the sleeping grass and warmed the darkened land.
Behind me, four bright watchers keep the silence deep and true;
Before me lies the living world, and work that I must do.
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🎨 Artist and author: Jay Stone
❤ Thank you so much for liking this artwork!
Buy it here 👉 https://nativerootsapparel86.com/j0013

10/15/2026

The Wolf Who Remembered My Footsteps

He stood where amber mist concealed
The narrow passage through the pine,
One lifted paw above the earth,
Two eyes that held the day’s last shine.

Behind him, larger than the trees,
His likeness gathered out of air—
A forest breathing through its fur,
The evening tangled in its hair.

I stopped. The path beneath my boots
Was one my mother used to know.
She named its bends in our own tongue
And taught me where the berries grow.

Years gone, I struggled for those words;
They hovered just beyond my breath.
The wolf looked past me toward the ridge,
Where roots gripped stone beneath the heath.

Then from the dark, a distant howl
Unfolded over hill and stream.
Another answered through the mist;
The forest widened like a dream.

He turned toward that returning sound,
His ears alert, his body still.
I felt the ache of coming home
To find one window dark upon the hill.

My mother’s voice rose through the hush:
A word for rain, a name for stone.
I spoke them slowly to the trees
And heard the changes in my tone.

The wolf moved on. His giant shadow
Dissolved among the stands of pine.
Yet every branch he passed beneath
Seemed briefly part of his design.

I followed only to the clearing,
Then let his tracks lead out of sight.
Beyond the ridge, the voices gathered,
Each one distinct within the night.

At home, I opened up a notebook
And wrote the words I could recall.
Outside, a howl crossed the valley;
I left a space beneath them all.
-------------------------------------
🎨 Artist and author: Jay Stone
❤ Thank you so much for liking this artwork!
Buy it here 👉 https://nativerootsapparel86.com/j103

10/15/2026

The Horse with a Forest in His Heart

Upon the ridge where daylight thins,
A horse stands dark against the flame.
The wind moves gently through his mane
As though it almost knows his name.

Within his chest, the pine trees rise;
Between their trunks, the sun burns low.
He holds a forest in his breath,
A place no map could ever show.

I climb the path my father knew,
Past weathered stone and roots laid bare.
The words he taught me for this land
Return in fragments through the air.

Below, our windows catch the dusk;
Soon someone there will call me home.
But here, the horse turns toward the wind,
His shadow stretching into gold.

I reach a hand toward his warm neck.
He waits, then steps beyond my reach.
Between us trembles something vast
That neither touch nor words can teach.

A thousand branches stir in him;
Their needles darken with the sky.
I hear the rain of other years
And hoofbeats passing somewhere by.

Perhaps my father heard them once
And paused upon this very stone,
His own unanswered questions held
Beneath a sky that seemed unknown.

The horse lifts up his head. The sun
Slips deeper through his ribs of pine.
For one brief moment, every tree
Casts its long shadow into mine.

Then down the ridge he moves through mist,
His forest fading, tree by tree.
The last light travels with his heart
Until the dark closes over him.

I turn toward home beneath the stars,
With resin clinging to my hand.
Tomorrow I will bring my child
And teach the names that hold this land.
---------------------------------------------

🎨 Artist and author: Jay Stone
❤ Thank you so much for liking this artwork!
Buy it here 👉 https://nativerootsapparel86.com/j4360

10/15/2026

The Bear Who Held the Evening

At dusk, the river opened gold,
And through its light a great bear came;
The mountains glimmered in his fur,
His shoulders edged with sunset flame.

Within his body stood the pines,
A hidden valley, deep and wide.
Three smaller bears approached a stream
That flowed beneath his living hide.

Above them wheeled an owl and hawks;
Below, a salmon broke the light.
He carried all their restless lives
Across the threshold into night.

Beside our fire, my grandmother
Fell silent as he crossed the stone.
I felt her fingers close on mine;
The dark no longer felt alone.

She spoke the river’s older name,
The one her mother taught her first.
I watched it leave her lips like breath
And enter water, bright with thirst.

The bear looked back. Within his eye
An ember trembled, small and clear.
For one suspended heartbeat, all
The forest seemed to gather near.

I saw the salmon feed the roots,
The roots hold earth against the rain;
The rain return to mountain snow,
The snow become the stream again.

And deep within that turning world,
The bear moved slowly through the glow,
Each heavy paw disturbing stars
Already forming down below.

I asked what waited past the trees.
She stirred the coals; a spark took flight.
“Come home,” she said, and held my hand.
“We have enough to tend tonight.”

Years later, by that same dark bend,
My daughter watches waters gleam.
A bear steps softly from the pines;
His shadow opens in the stream.

I speak the name my grandmother spoke.
My daughter tries its sounds with care.
The current carries both our voices
Toward the gold beneath the bear.
----------------------------------------

🎨 Artist and author: Jay Stone
❤ Thank you so much for liking this artwork!
Buy it here 👉 https://nativerootsapparel86.com/j7695

10/14/2026

The Eagle Beyond the Veil

Where sunset burns through ranks of pine
And green light loosens in the skies,
An eagle watches from the dusk,
The last gold gathered in his eyes.

His feathered crown unfolds like flame;
Blue beads hold fragments of the sea.
Behind him, curtains of pale light
Reveal what daylight cannot see.

Below, a stag stands motionless,
His antlers branching into night.
The forest seems to hold its breath
As darkness fills with moving light.

I came there carrying my grief,
A name I could no longer call.
The eagle turned his gaze toward mine;
A pinecone loosened in its fall.

I heard my grandfather’s voice again,
As clearly as beside his chair,
Teaching me words I feared to lose.
I spoke them slowly to the air.

The green sky folded over us.
Each feather trembled at its seam.
For one brief moment, waking earth
Lay open at the edge of dream.

I saw how roots embrace the dark,
How rivers travel under snow,
How wings can vanish into clouds
While shadows mark the land below.

The eagle offered me no word.
His golden eye held steady light.
I stayed until my breathing slowed
And stars grew visible through night.

Then, with a sound like shaken rain,
He rose above the tallest tree.
The stag stepped softly into shade;
The clearing widened around me.

At dawn, I took the homeward path
And spoke the name I thought was gone.
Above the pines, a distant wing
Caught fire—and carried morning on.
--------------------------------------------

🎨 Artist and author: Jay Stone
❤ Thank you so much for liking this artwork!
Buy it here 👉 https://nativerootsapparel86.com/j305

10/14/2026

The Turtle Who Carried the Unspoken

The turtle came when winds grew still,
When moonlight silvered every stone.
Upon her back, in blue and gold,
Four watchful lives became her own.

A bear stood rooted in her shell,
An eagle opened wings of flame;
A salmon curved toward distant rain,
An orca sang beyond its frame.

She carried them through sleeping tides,
Past drowned wood silvered by the deep.
Their painted eyes remained awake
Where even restless storms must sleep.

I watched her from the darkened shore,
My grandmother’s coat around my chest.
Its sleeves still held the scent of smoke;
Inside one pocket, cedar pressed.

The names she taught me stirred again—
The inlet, headland, creek, and stone.
I spoke them where the water turned,
And heard how much my voice had grown.

Then something shifted in the gold:
The eagle’s shadow crossed my hand.
The bear breathed warmth against the cold;
The salmon stirred beneath the sand.

Far out, the orca’s hidden song
Rose through the soles of both my feet.
The turtle held her steady course;
Within her shell, their paths could meet.

I knelt, but could not touch her back.
Between us lay a depth unknown.
I let the water fill my palms,
Then gave it back what I had drawn.

At dawn, her shape dissolved in blue.
The shore lay bare beneath the sky.
Yet when I turned to walk toward home,
A golden glimmer caught my eye—

One drop still resting on my wrist,
Holding the light before it fell.
For one brief moment, I could see
The whole sea shining in its shell.
-------------------------------------
🎨 Artist and author: Jay Stone
❤ Thank you so much for liking this artwork!
Buy it here 👉 https://nativerootsapparel86.com/j2564

10/14/2026

The Valley Within the Bear

Within the bear’s unblinking gaze,
A valley holds the evening light;
The mountains gather fallen gold,
The river carries it through night.

Beside a tipi, embers rise—
Small constellations, briefly born.
A child sits close to hear a tale
That will be theirs to tell at dawn.

The storyteller pauses there;
Beyond the fire, the branches stir.
A shadow moves between the pines,
And every face turns toward the fur.

The bear stands where the firelight ends,
With rain and cedar in its coat.
No human word disturbs its mouth;
The river speaks from its dark throat.

What does it carry through the trees?
The weight of winters, roots, and rain;
The paths that cross beneath the snow
And find the waking earth again.

Around the flame, the listeners breathe.
Above them, stars begin to show.
The oldest hands draw closer warmth;
The youngest ask what elders know.

And when the bear returns to dark,
Its absence leaves the clearing wide.
The child looks down into the stream
And sees the mountain move inside.

Long after embers turn to ash,
That gaze remains, immense and deep:
A living valley in the heart,
A world no single life can keep.
------------------------------------
🎨 Artist and author: Jay Stone
❤️ Thank you for loving this artwork! Get here 👉 https://nativerootsapparel86.com/p9933

Jay Stone

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