Unbridled, the stream bubbled in its race against Winter. Spadefoot toads snuggled beneath the topsoil, sleeping to the lullaby of waters tumbling over the rocks. Ya a' ta yehtsih's thoughts drifted. She last waded this stream as yawi' tsinoha' (little girl) of fourteen summers; soon to wed. Flutes played for her wedding--jubilant, like the fast-flowing currents. They played mournful melodies as her feet trod the Trail of Tears--far from her beloved stream. Later, the spirits of her baby and husband rode upon the wind with their music. Eighty winters; the melody bore her beyond the stream to her ancestors. She had lived the rhythm of ordinary days filled with extraordinary deeds. |
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