Her Grandmother kept a watchful eye on her, when she played in the tall grasses. She told stories of Brother Bear swooping out of nowhere and snatching unwary victims. Hunting parties were often plagued by packs of wolves, testing the warrior’s skills. Their camps followed good hunting, sometimes reuniting with another tribe, sharing the plentiful harvest and trading with each other. Each time they met new tribes, they always exchanged their knowledge of the song of life, and compared how they had arrived on this beautiful land. All were similar, a story can change each time it is told, and must be recreated to discover the true meaning. Fairies swooped closer to the storytellers, hoping to hear something not already heard on the prairie. Spirits danced in the flames of their fires, celebrating the sharing of knowledge, and the continuation of their heritage.
It is that simple commonality and sharing of the spirit that reunites and builds this country. It has been ever changing, sometimes at severe loss to others, such as our Native American friends. She and her husband had been separated and reunited in this land of tall grasses. They had watched and joined the growth and reorganization, trying to tame this once wild world. Now they lived in a capital city, and enjoyed their lives here just as they had on the prairie, but missing the great expanse and gentle prairie breeze, carrying many happy memories.
How much better it could be
If we called each other soul mates
But lovers we shall be
Loving each other graciously
Forever and ever, throughout eternity.