High upon an ancestral mountain that over looks a scared valley
An very old man sits on a blanket alone by a bright campfire
Smoke bellows in a spiral fashion that braids up on high
The fire crackles and pops glowing embers high into the night sky.
This old man sits and slowly rocks back and forth
He is becoming one with the Spirits of his ancestors
From a distance there is another fire that glows as bright
Where the drums of his People beat a rhythm of enchantment.
The smoke swirls about from a light breeze that gives way to visions
Softly this Brave chants the songs of greeting to the other world
"Come forth, Come forth my brothers and sisters who have crossed over
Greet me and help me to prepare for my travel to the other side,
My past calls for one to guide me to where the Buffalo run free
Where the thundering is heard and the hunt is a good one for all
I, Red Wing now honor you Oh great Katinka for all your blessings
I have throne the bones, it is time to travel to my Forefathers,
I grow weary and hard to keep up with those that love me dear
Call to me like the Wolf calls to the giant white moon above.
Spirits of my Forefathers, Spirits of the Guardians do bless me
So that my spirit flies high on Eagle wings and my journey fairs".
He stands slowly, with all the pride he has felt for nearly two lifetimes
He then raises his arms to the Spirits and the drums seem to echo
And the fire bursts forth and the spiraling smoke creates stair steps
That spiral up and up until there stands a Warrior mighty and strong
This warrior is in full Regalia, on his shoulder a Hawk with Red Wings
The great Warrior calls to Red Wing, "Come my brother, your traveling
Will not be a lonely one. Come and walk by my side old man, together
You will become as you were in your youth, We will hunt as once before".
The old man named Red Wing steps upon the smoke and his body transforms
Into the smoke that swirls upward and beyond to the great Warrior
The drums in the distance has faded as the spirit of Red Wing has
The fire crackles no longer and slowly dies with the coming of dawn.
The red sun rises with the orange glow across the horizon
When the sun touches the mountain where the old man sat by the fire
There lays a blanket that he set upon in front of the campfire
Over the horizon a Hawk with Red Wings cries out loud, as if to say Farewell.
by Richard Lee Cook
Copyright 2011
An SILVERFEATHER Creation
