"Procrastination is the art of keeping up with yesterday"~~ Don Marquis, American novelist, playwright and poet -- 1878-1937
The heat and the lack of rain, has been very hard on the Tribe because the food has not been as plentiful. The plantings have produced pitiful results, even with planting fish skins and water from the springs.
The dry and the heat have increased the amount of insects and have made them more vicious towards humans and more ravenous towards vegetables. New insects seemed to have emerged from the cracked soil while the hoppers prosper and multiply, bringing large white birds who take our fish before we can.
From the cave, I could see the winds whip around in circles, causing dust to rise and be blown away from our fields. Even I as one person, could notice that the coyote were becoming more plentiful and were beginning to hunt young deer in packs, causing the deer to be less plentiful and those who were there were more cautious.
I could also see from the cave the shallow depths of the two rivers. Their banks were never full and many times in the Great Heat, their waters would be reduced to small flows in their main channels. The fish would be jammed together in the small space and the otters, fox and hawks would take more than they should, causing the fish to be fewer and fewer.
All of this was worrisome and there seemed to be nothing that we could do. Some of our villagers had left us, to wander the river banks in search of a better place. Most of us who remained behind, thought it best to stay together as a group, but taking up the wandering life did have its appeal, as our ancients had practiced it many years earlier."Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened."
~~ Dr. Seuss
Word had quickly spread through my Village of some important event; the people were running from hut to hut, meeting in the Plaza. Even from my high lookout, I could tell that they were excited.
I left my cave and climbed to the Sentinel’s camp on top, but he was not there—probably hunting, I thought. From my vantage point, I saw my son of twenty seasons, Heron, climbing the hill without regard of being spotted. He must be coming to tell me of the event, but he should be more careful. Heron arrived, just as the Sentinel emerged from the trees on the ridge, carrying a gourd that was sloshing water. Neither of them seemed concerned about the other’s presence; it was confusing to me.
“Father,” Heron said excitedly, “the old Chief of Chiefs has died. Grandfather says you are free!”
The sense of what Heron said did not immediately set in. The Sentinel arrived. I turned to him. “Is it true that the Chief in Chi’cotha has died?” I asked him.
“Yes,” the Sentinel replied flatly. “The Council has named White Eagle from Nurk as the new Chief.”They could have named Father, but for my mistake twenty seasons earlier. The Sentinel seemed to be making preparations to leave, but it was not time for a new Sentinel – not till the next moon. What did this mean?
Ink and paper are sometimes passionate lovers, oftentimes brother and sister, and occasionally mortal enemies.
~~Terri Guillemets, Anthologist
"It is not fair to ask of others what you are not willing to do yourself." ~~ Eleanor Roosevelt, First Lady, 1933-1945
"Politicians are like diapers; they need to be changed often and for the same reason." ~~ Mark Twain
From my hiding place in the woods above the rocks where the springs flowed, I waited. Then I heard the sounds of a little girl crying and I knew Lone Bird and my daughter were coming. But the first person I saw, was my son, Third Heron, who came cautiously creeping into the opening around the small pool of the spring’s waters, as if to see if any animals were drinking there.
Then running into the opening came Little Fawn, cuter than I could have imagined. I had not seen her since she was a baby, but now she could walk and run and was beginning to talk to her brother, when her mother, my One appeared, trotting after Little Fawn. My breath was taken away by seeing all three of them there. And, following Lone Bird was Mother. What a gathering this would be!
I whistled the call of the redbird—“purdy, purdy, purdy, wheet,” to let them know that I was nearby. Third Heron looked back at his mother, and she nodded ‘yes’ to him. My son then answered my call with his whistle—“piddy, piddy, piddy, wheet.”
I was thrilled; tears of joy and pride welled in my eyes, as I bounded out of my hiding place and ran down the hill. Little Fawn was frightened by me and hid behind her grandmother. Third Heron ran to me and hugged me strongly. He was ten years old and getting big.
“Aiyee,” I shouted happily. Mother returned, “Aiyee, my son.” Little Fawn stepped halfway out from behind her grandmother and stood with her fingers touching her lips.
Lone Bird looked back at Little Fawn smiling and said in an encouraging tone, “Aiyee,” with her voice rising at the end. She and Little Fawn had practiced this greeting for me, but Little Fawn was unsure. “Come on my Fawn, you can say it, with me. “Aiyee, Father.”And shortly, alone by herself, Little Fawn ventured softly, saying “Awee, Faver.” It was precious. “Aiyee, my pretty daughter,” I said gently, and she smiled and turned her head in embarrassment.
"A grownup is a child with layers on."
~~ Woody Harrelson, American Actor, b. 1961
"Whom the Gods would destroy, they first make mad with power."
When a man looks across a street, sees a pretty girl, and waves at her, that's not a rendezvous, that's a passing acquaintance. When he walks across the street and nibbles on her ear, that's a rendezvous!
~~ Wally Schirra, 1923-2007, US Astronaut and Navy Pilot with 267 Carrier landings
