This memory glows in my mind like the Milky Way in November…
Skeleton trees bow gracefully in the sharp air,
beyond, the naked pasture cracks green and gold with frost.
A black bear rears up, wheatgrass parts like water.
A cold hard lamp comes on over the prairie,
its echo shines through the window.
The Lakota woman hands me a book, our fingers touch,
the footsteps of a thousand generations pass beneath our feet.