American Indian camp with spirits walking

'Story Teller Long Walk'

Painted by Johnny Yazzie

My Personal Collection

(Click on painting for more information)

                   From WHISPERS THROUGH TIME...

 

Sierra frowned. The atmosphere had somehow changed, but she couldn’t tell how. She looked around, confused. Moments before, the breeze had been light and chilly. Now the air felt thick and mysterious, as if it was filled with hidden secrets. For a moment she thought about how silent it was out here on these prairies and how lonesome the early pioneers must have been…

No.

Like down in Big Bend, the silence was deceptive. There was nothing silent about these plains. If she held her breath, she could hear the noises of rustling insects and scuttling prairie dogs and even, somewhere nearby, the whooshing murmur of a stream.

Sierra frowned. That was strange. She saw nothing that heralded the presence of running water. Then she heard laughter in the distance, wafting through the silence as if there was a party in some town a hundred miles away.

Suddenly, without warning, Sierra found herself seated cross-legged on a riverbank, viewing a vast camp of tipi circles nestled deep in a fog-enshrouded valley across the water. The air was thick and damp and icy-cold. Small fires flickered within the tipis, like orange and red lightning bugs. She smelled the acrid odor of nearby horses, and heard slow, steady, throbbing drumbeats from somewhere in the camp, far beyond her vision.

Somehow, and she didn’t know how, Sierra knew that this was a Lakota winter camp from an earlier generation, and this flowing water she was seated beside was somewhere on the White River…