When the Geese Fly

Prayers in a season of change

The honking of the geese could be heard far from the lake. The birds were flying in large looping circles around the lake building their strength for a long upcoming migration.

To Man Face it was a beautiful sound but he did not want it to end. The subsequent quiet after the birds left would signal the coming of winter. While he welcomed the cooler temperatures of autumn, he did not want to go through another winter like the previous one.

The great blizzard of nine months ago took a heavy mental, physical and spiritual toll on the tribe Man Face was part of. Not everyone survived.

Sitting on the knoll looking in the direction of the lake, Man Face remembered his son who left for the spirit worlds during that snow. It was only his fifth winter. The sorrow of his loss followed Man Face through spring and summer, through every hunt and every dance. Every time the tribe moved to new camps his anguish followed close behind.

His wife, Blue Wind, was devastated. Man Face could not remember when she last smiled.

He looked up as many geese flew directly over him. The honking was like drumbeats that broke through into the spirit realms and transcended time. How he wished that he could fly like the birds, closer to the heavens. How he wished that he could fly away to a different place and a different time when he and his son could be together again.

Man Face lit his pipe and drew the smoke through it into his lungs as he said a prayer for his boy. As he released the smoke his prayer was carried by that smoke up towards the heavens.

He then said prayers this way for Blue Wind, all the people of his tribe, and all the animals and plants upon the land that his tribe relied upon for sustenance. As the honking of the geese faded away into the distance, he prayed to his spirit guides asking to be shown where to go and when to go to avoid brutal storms, to help him awaken his inner senses and follow them as did all the birds. The animals were guided this way and so, too, were the people when not distracted.

After the autumn hunts the tribe would move to the foothills for the winter. Looking around him at the sea of prairie grass, Man Face said one more prayer. It was a prayer of thanks for the land and the lives lived upon it between sojourns in the spirit world. With the smoke he released the prayer as well as the burden of his sorrow. He would be sad no more.

Packing away his pipe, Man Face stood and began walking towards camp. Tonight he would dance.

Copyright by White Feather. All Rights Reserved. This is a work of fiction. See My Latest Stories Here