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Jul 4, 2007 17:11:16 GMT -5
Post by Spirit of the Lynx on Jul 4, 2007 17:11:16 GMT -5
From: ♫Mysti♫ (Original Message) Sent: 9/6/2004 9:34 PM The call of a solitary loon, far out on the lake, broke the stillness of the night air. Amoung the trees along the shore, the whip-poor-will began his nightly ritual of calling out into the darkness. By the fireside, at his place in the woods, an old man smoked his pipe and dreamed his dreams. His heart was saddened. In his long lifetime, he had seen many changes. The woodlands were no longer abundant w/ game, the lakes and streams were polluted with waste, and the young men, his warriors, were working in factories. Swift Eagle had no apprentice to learn his medicine, the medicine of his father and of his grandfathers. The ways of the Midwifing, the Grand Medicine Society, were regarded as merely old superstition. His body was weak with its many years, and Swift Eagle knew that soon he would walk with his ancestors. Before that time came, on thing yet he would do. Rising to his feet, raising his face and lifting his arms to the night sky, he called out to the spirit that he had known since youth. "Send me someone of my people, to take my poems, my lessons on life, as they were told to me by my father, and to him by his father, that they may be used by my people, in remembrance of the times that were and for the times that are new." In the distance, the owl called back as if to answer hs plea. ~Ron Neece
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