Warm winds flow across the prairie, its passage noted by the swaying grass.
Hawks scream in mock alarm while gliding through shafts of morning light spilling through the clouds.
I wander down a solemn path toward the canvas caves that dot the horizon.
The smell of beech wood smoke greets my nose.
Doe eyes blink in childlike wonder as white tail sentinels keep watch.
Round top hills rest in slumber as the wind whispers through the trees.
Around my neck I wear my totem charms, bear claws that protect me from harm.
Leather belts laden with colored beads and shells adorn my vest, a small bag of salt at my side.
Flint knives at my waist cannot be replaced by tools of iron that do not match my cutting edge.
A gurgling stream snakes through the valley its frothy waters etching memories from the stone.
A lone equestrian arrives to greet me, his head held high with pride, steam erupting from his pony's nostrils.
It is the year of the white buffalo.
My minds eye is clear so I share these things that I remember.
