Weyekin

So the alone-days began.
My steps led up the valley towards the mountain. 

Under the narrowing sky
the cool air rattled the dry leaves.

Deep into the quiet trees I traveled, 

through the long shadows and cold streams.

Berries for my hunger led me to the higher land.

I sang my father's hunting songs;

his voice echoed in my ear as I climbed with his pace.

Chilled by sweat, my song chattered 

like the chipmunk into the long nights. 

A third day passed to the bright moon rising in the sky.

The night air bit my throat and tired eyes.

Blooming bear grass began whispering their old stories, 

chiding me to stop; to listen. Sleep soon held me warm and tight.

From my dreams I rose up, seeing far beyond the white mountain tops.

My outstretched arms flapped with ease

as I flew with many crows, each one calling out my name.

We all sang loudly and beat the air with our wings.

We soared over the mighty river, then east over the plains 

with my people sprouting everywhere from the land below.

Then a great blue wind rode through the Wallowa’s,
scattering all the people till they stood no more.
  

I can still see the proudest, deep black crow turning suddenly,

tossing a shiny black stone to me and laughing.

Fire bursts from the stone, warming me deep inside.

The bright flames burn brightly cradled in my palms.
Standing around the edge of the fire are all my people,

holding up their hands, chanting and waving good bye. 

Crow rises up in the middle with tilted head,
staring at me with one great yellow eye.
His wings held wide for all to see.

Once more he holds the black stone in his beak
and strikes the ground three times.
The sky suddenly flashes white and thunder beats his drum.

I awoke to rain on my face
and thoughts of the warm fires of home.
I feared nothing but the coming blue wind.