IN WINTER

My mother's land is white with snow.The sandwash and the waterhole,the dry grass patches and thecornfield hide awayunder the white blanket,under the snow blanketthat covers the land.The air is filledwith falling snow,thick snow,soft snowfalling,falling.

My mother's land is white with snow.

The sandwash and the waterhole,the dry grass patches and thecornfield hide awayunder the white blanket,under the snow blanketthat covers the land.

The sandwash and the waterhole,

the dry grass patches and the

cornfield hide away

under the white blanket,

under the snow blanket

that covers the land.

The air is filledwith falling snow,thick snow,soft snowfalling,falling.

The air is filled

with falling snow,

thick snow,

soft snow

falling,

falling.

Beautiful Mountainand the red rock canyonshide their facesin snow clouds.The wind cries.It piles the snowin drift banksagainst the polesof the sheep corral.It pushes against the doorof my mother's hogan,and it cries.The wind cries out therein the snow and the cold.My mother's hogan is cold.Snow blows down the smoke hole.Water drops on the fire.The wet wood smokesand keeps its flames to itself.The sunhas not shown his faceto tell uswhat time of day it is.I do not like to ask my mother,"Is it noon now?" or"Is it almost night?"becauseshe might thinkI wanted it to be time to eat.She might thinkI wanted food.

Beautiful Mountainand the red rock canyonshide their facesin snow clouds.

Beautiful Mountain

and the red rock canyons

hide their faces

in snow clouds.

The wind cries.

It piles the snowin drift banksagainst the polesof the sheep corral.

It piles the snow

in drift banks

against the poles

of the sheep corral.

It pushes against the doorof my mother's hogan,and it cries.

It pushes against the door

of my mother's hogan,

and it cries.

The wind cries out therein the snow and the cold.

The wind cries out there

in the snow and the cold.

My mother's hogan is cold.Snow blows down the smoke hole.Water drops on the fire.

My mother's hogan is cold.

Snow blows down the smoke hole.

Water drops on the fire.

The wet wood smokesand keeps its flames to itself.

The wet wood smokes

and keeps its flames to itself.

The sunhas not shown his faceto tell uswhat time of day it is.

The sun

has not shown his face

to tell us

what time of day it is.

I do not like to ask my mother,"Is it noon now?" or"Is it almost night?"becauseshe might thinkI wanted it to be time to eat.

I do not like to ask my mother,

"Is it noon now?" or

"Is it almost night?"

because

she might think

I wanted it to be time to eat.

She might thinkI wanted food.

She might think

I wanted food.

There is no food.There is no flour nor cornmealto make into bread.There is no coffeethat my mother could boilfor us to drink.There is no food.The corn my father plantedin his fieldis gone.We ate it.

There is no food.

There is no flour nor cornmealto make into bread.

There is no flour nor cornmeal

to make into bread.

There is no coffeethat my mother could boilfor us to drink.

There is no coffee

that my mother could boil

for us to drink.

There is no food.

The corn my father plantedin his fieldis gone.

The corn my father planted

in his field

is gone.

We ate it.

There was so little.The corn pile in the storehousewas not high enoughto last for long.It is gone.Now all of it is gone.There is no food.There is foodat the Trading Postin sacks and in boxes,in bins and in canson the shelf.There is food at the Trading Post,but the Trading Postis far awayand snowdriftsand snow cloudsare heavy between.There is food at the Trading Postbut my father has nothing leftof the hard, round moneythat he must giveto the Traderfor the food.There is no food herein my mother's hogan.When it is time to eat,we talk of other things,but not of hunger.This thing called hungeris a painthat sits inside me.At first it was little,but nowit grows biggerand bigger.It hurts meto be hungry.

There was so little.The corn pile in the storehousewas not high enoughto last for long.It is gone.

There was so little.

The corn pile in the storehouse

was not high enough

to last for long.

It is gone.

Now all of it is gone.There is no food.

Now all of it is gone.

There is no food.

There is foodat the Trading Postin sacks and in boxes,in bins and in canson the shelf.

There is food

at the Trading Post

in sacks and in boxes,

in bins and in cans

on the shelf.

There is food at the Trading Post,but the Trading Postis far awayand snowdriftsand snow cloudsare heavy between.

There is food at the Trading Post,

but the Trading Post

is far away

and snowdrifts

and snow clouds

are heavy between.

There is food at the Trading Postbut my father has nothing leftof the hard, round moneythat he must giveto the Traderfor the food.

There is food at the Trading Post

but my father has nothing left

of the hard, round money

that he must give

to the Trader

for the food.

There is no food herein my mother's hogan.

There is no food here

in my mother's hogan.

When it is time to eat,we talk of other things,but not of hunger.

When it is time to eat,

we talk of other things,

but not of hunger.

This thing called hungeris a painthat sits inside me.

This thing called hunger

is a pain

that sits inside me.

At first it was little,but nowit grows biggerand bigger.

At first it was little,

but now

it grows bigger

and bigger.

It hurts meto be hungry.

It hurts me

to be hungry.

The dogs are hungry, too.They crowd in the hogan.The black oneis not sleeping now.He lies with his headon his pawsand looks at nothing.The yellow one whimpers.He has worked hard,but there is no food.The gray shadow dog stays outsideclose to the tree trunkmaking no soundasking for nothing.I think she knowsnobody wants her.

The dogs are hungry, too.

They crowd in the hogan.

The black oneis not sleeping now.

The black one

is not sleeping now.

He lies with his headon his pawsand looks at nothing.

He lies with his head

on his paws

and looks at nothing.

The yellow one whimpers.

He has worked hard,but there is no food.

He has worked hard,

but there is no food.

The gray shadow dog stays outsideclose to the tree trunkmaking no soundasking for nothing.

The gray shadow dog stays outside

close to the tree trunk

making no sound

asking for nothing.

I think she knowsnobody wants her.

I think she knows

nobody wants her.

The sheep are wet and cold.They are hungry, too.If the snow keeps falling,it will be bad for the sheep.Perhapsthat is why the wind cries.Perhapsthe wind is sorryfor the sheep.That is what I think.My mother talks to my father.Togetherthey go out to shovel snow.The ruffles on my mother's skirtsmake pretty marks on the topof the snow whiteness.My mother and my fathershovel a round placeclean of snowout near the sheep corral.

The sheep are wet and cold.

They are hungry, too.

If the snow keeps falling,it will be bad for the sheep.

If the snow keeps falling,

it will be bad for the sheep.

Perhapsthat is why the wind cries.

Perhaps

that is why the wind cries.

Perhapsthe wind is sorryfor the sheep.

Perhaps

the wind is sorry

for the sheep.

That is what I think.

My mother talks to my father.

Togetherthey go out to shovel snow.

Together

they go out to shovel snow.

The ruffles on my mother's skirtsmake pretty marks on the topof the snow whiteness.

The ruffles on my mother's skirts

make pretty marks on the top

of the snow whiteness.

My mother and my fathershovel a round placeclean of snowout near the sheep corral.

My mother and my father

shovel a round place

clean of snow

out near the sheep corral.

They will build a fireto melt snow into waterto give to the sheep.It takes much woodto make a fireto melt snow into water,but if the sheep have waterto drinkthey do not hunger so much.When the round placeis clear of snow,my mother comes into the hoganfor dry woodto make the outdoor fire.She picks a stickfrom our small pilebeside the fire.She picks anotheruntil she has a little armful.My mother picks them up slowlyfor our pile is so small.My father comes into the hogan.He stamps his feet.Little hills of dirty snowmelt slowly by themon the hogan floor.It takes a lot of snowin my mother's washtubto melt enough waterfor the sheep.When my mother comes againinto the hoganshe is tired.Her poor faceis dark with cold.I put my armsaround my mother's knees.It is the only way I knowto show herthat I am sorry she is cold.

They will build a fireto melt snow into waterto give to the sheep.

They will build a fire

to melt snow into water

to give to the sheep.

It takes much woodto make a fireto melt snow into water,but if the sheep have waterto drinkthey do not hunger so much.

It takes much wood

to make a fire

to melt snow into water,

but if the sheep have water

to drink

they do not hunger so much.

When the round placeis clear of snow,my mother comes into the hoganfor dry woodto make the outdoor fire.

When the round place

is clear of snow,

my mother comes into the hogan

for dry wood

to make the outdoor fire.

She picks a stickfrom our small pilebeside the fire.

She picks a stick

from our small pile

beside the fire.

She picks anotheruntil she has a little armful.

She picks another

until she has a little armful.

My mother picks them up slowlyfor our pile is so small.

My mother picks them up slowly

for our pile is so small.

My father comes into the hogan.

He stamps his feet.

Little hills of dirty snowmelt slowly by themon the hogan floor.

Little hills of dirty snow

melt slowly by them

on the hogan floor.

It takes a lot of snowin my mother's washtubto melt enough waterfor the sheep.

It takes a lot of snow

in my mother's washtub

to melt enough water

for the sheep.

When my mother comes againinto the hoganshe is tired.

When my mother comes again

into the hogan

she is tired.

Her poor faceis dark with cold.

Her poor face

is dark with cold.

I put my armsaround my mother's knees.

I put my arms

around my mother's knees.

It is the only way I knowto show herthat I am sorry she is cold.

It is the only way I know

to show her

that I am sorry she is cold.

Night is slow in coming,but at last it comesmoving through the snowstorm.Coyotes howl, far away.Nearby the wind cries.The wet wood smokes.Snow water drips downthrough the smoke hole.

Night is slow in coming,but at last it comesmoving through the snowstorm.

Night is slow in coming,

but at last it comes

moving through the snowstorm.

Coyotes howl, far away.

Nearby the wind cries.

The wet wood smokes.

Snow water drips downthrough the smoke hole.

Snow water drips down

through the smoke hole.

Thenmy father tells us stories.Long storiesmade up of many words.His words have power.They have strength.They seem to hold me.They seem to warm me.They seem to feed me.My father's words,they comfort me.His words have power.My father tellsThe Star Story."When the world was being made,being made."My father tells us,"When the Gods wereplacing stars,the stars,the stars in patternsin the sky,coyote stole the star bag."

Thenmy father tells us stories.

Then

my father tells us stories.

Long storiesmade up of many words.

Long stories

made up of many words.

His words have power.

They have strength.

They seem to hold me.

They seem to warm me.

They seem to feed me.

My father's words,they comfort me.

My father's words,

they comfort me.

His words have power.

My father tellsThe Star Story.

My father tells

The Star Story.

"When the world was being made,being made."

"When the world was being made,

being made."

My father tells us,"When the Gods wereplacing stars,the stars,the stars in patternsin the sky,coyote stole the star bag."

My father tells us,

"When the Gods were

placing stars,

the stars,

the stars in patterns

in the sky,

coyote stole the star bag."

Coyote spilled the stars outin the sky,helter skelter in the sky,when the world was being made.Softlymy father tells it,the story of the stars.Outside,the windand the nightpush againstmy mother's hogan door.Outside,big flakes of snowfall thickly,fall softly,fall steadily.Inside,snow water dripsdown the smoke holeand the words ofmy father's voicedrop softlyinto the quietof my mother's hogan.

Coyote spilled the stars outin the sky,helter skelter in the sky,when the world was being made.

Coyote spilled the stars out

in the sky,

helter skelter in the sky,

when the world was being made.

Softlymy father tells it,the story of the stars.

Softly

my father tells it,

the story of the stars.

Outside,the windand the nightpush againstmy mother's hogan door.

Outside,

the wind

and the night

push against

my mother's hogan door.

Outside,big flakes of snowfall thickly,fall softly,fall steadily.

Outside,

big flakes of snow

fall thickly,

fall softly,

fall steadily.

Inside,snow water dripsdown the smoke holeand the words ofmy father's voicedrop softlyinto the quietof my mother's hogan.

Inside,

snow water drips

down the smoke hole

and the words of

my father's voice

drop softly

into the quiet

of my mother's hogan.

The Star Storymade my mother thinkof the string game,"It-Is-Twisted."She said that the Spider Peoplegave it to usto use in winter evenings.My mother showed ushow to make the game.She madeTwin-Stars and Many-Stars,Big-Star and Horned-Starwith pieces of string.

The Star Storymade my mother thinkof the string game,"It-Is-Twisted."

The Star Story

made my mother think

of the string game,

"It-Is-Twisted."

She said that the Spider Peoplegave it to usto use in winter evenings.

She said that the Spider People

gave it to us

to use in winter evenings.

My mother showed ushow to make the game.

My mother showed us

how to make the game.

She madeTwin-Stars and Many-Stars,Big-Star and Horned-Starwith pieces of string.

She made

Twin-Stars and Many-Stars,

Big-Star and Horned-Star

with pieces of string.

Just now,I heard myself saying,"I want some bread."My father is not talking now.He is looking at me.My mother is looking at me.They do not know it was not I,but this hunger pain inside methat said those words,"I want some bread."They do not know that,and I do not knowhow to tell them.My father sits still.He sits quietly.He is thinking.My mother looks downat her handswhere they are restingin the folds of her skirt.Outside,the wind criesthe wind criesto my thinking.Slowlymy father takes his concho beltfrom about his waist.Slowlyhis fingers touch the belt,counting,counting,counting the conchos.Slowlymy mother takes her coral stringfrom about her neck.She looks at it.She looks at it.Slowlyshe puts it back againaround her neck.Thenmy mothertakes from her fingerher largest turquoise ring.My father puts his concho beltupon the floor.My mother puts her turquoise ringupon the floor.The concho beltand the turquoise ringmake a splash of colorin the gray-lighted hogan.He will pawn thembecause our foodis getting low.The concho beltand the turquoise ringare for pawn.They are for pawn.Pawn to the Traderfor food.Pawn to the Traderthat we may eat.Our hard goods,our possessionswe give themfor saltand for flour.They are for pawn.Who knowswhen we can buy them back.The snow water dropsfrom the smoke holelike tears.The wind cries.Quicklymy father singsa funny songto make laughter cometo my mother and me.

Just now,I heard myself saying,"I want some bread."

Just now,

I heard myself saying,

"I want some bread."

My father is not talking now.

He is looking at me.

My mother is looking at me.

They do not know it was not I,but this hunger pain inside methat said those words,"I want some bread."

They do not know it was not I,

but this hunger pain inside me

that said those words,

"I want some bread."

They do not know that,and I do not knowhow to tell them.

They do not know that,

and I do not know

how to tell them.

My father sits still.

He sits quietly.

He is thinking.

My mother looks downat her handswhere they are restingin the folds of her skirt.

My mother looks down

at her hands

where they are resting

in the folds of her skirt.

Outside,the wind criesthe wind criesto my thinking.

Outside,

the wind cries

to my thinking.

Slowlymy father takes his concho beltfrom about his waist.

Slowly

my father takes his concho belt

from about his waist.

Slowlyhis fingers touch the belt,counting,counting,counting the conchos.

Slowly

his fingers touch the belt,

counting,

counting the conchos.

Slowlymy mother takes her coral stringfrom about her neck.

Slowly

my mother takes her coral string

from about her neck.

She looks at it.

Slowlyshe puts it back againaround her neck.

Slowly

she puts it back again

around her neck.

Thenmy mothertakes from her fingerher largest turquoise ring.

Then

my mother

takes from her finger

her largest turquoise ring.

My father puts his concho beltupon the floor.

My father puts his concho belt

upon the floor.

My mother puts her turquoise ringupon the floor.

My mother puts her turquoise ring

upon the floor.

The concho beltand the turquoise ringmake a splash of colorin the gray-lighted hogan.

The concho belt

and the turquoise ring

make a splash of color

in the gray-lighted hogan.

He will pawn thembecause our foodis getting low.

He will pawn them

because our food

is getting low.

The concho beltand the turquoise ringare for pawn.

The concho belt

and the turquoise ring

are for pawn.

They are for pawn.

Pawn to the Traderfor food.

Pawn to the Trader

for food.

Pawn to the Traderthat we may eat.

Pawn to the Trader

that we may eat.

Our hard goods,our possessionswe give themfor saltand for flour.

Our hard goods,

our possessions

we give them

for salt

and for flour.

They are for pawn.

Who knowswhen we can buy them back.

Who knows

when we can buy them back.

The snow water dropsfrom the smoke holelike tears.

The snow water drops

from the smoke hole

like tears.

The wind cries.

Quicklymy father singsa funny songto make laughter cometo my mother and me.

Quickly

my father sings

a funny song

to make laughter come

to my mother and me.

MORNING

The wind lies still.It has not gone awayI know,for I can feel itlying there outsidehiding in the snow.The wind lies stillbehind the snowdrifts,but sometimesit starts upwith a low cry,then falls again to hide.Cold bends over the land.The white feathers of snowfall slower and slower.My mother and my fatherget up early.My mother will kill a sheepso my father can eatsomethingbefore he startsfor the Trading Post.My father waitsfor my motherto butcher the sheepand to cook a piecefor his breakfast.Then my father finds his horse.He ties an empty flour sackbehind his saddle.He wraps his blanket about himand leaning his bodyagainst the stormhe rides to the Trading Post.My father ridesinto the snow-filled world.His blanket and his horseare the only colorsmovingthrough the white.Snow comes into my heartfilling it with coldwhen I seemy father ride away.

The wind lies still.

It has not gone awayI know,for I can feel itlying there outsidehiding in the snow.

It has not gone away

I know,

for I can feel it

lying there outside

hiding in the snow.

The wind lies stillbehind the snowdrifts,but sometimesit starts upwith a low cry,then falls again to hide.

The wind lies still

behind the snowdrifts,

but sometimes

it starts up

with a low cry,

then falls again to hide.

Cold bends over the land.

The white feathers of snowfall slower and slower.

The white feathers of snow

fall slower and slower.

My mother and my fatherget up early.

My mother and my father

get up early.

My mother will kill a sheepso my father can eatsomethingbefore he startsfor the Trading Post.

My mother will kill a sheep

so my father can eat

something

before he starts

for the Trading Post.

My father waitsfor my motherto butcher the sheepand to cook a piecefor his breakfast.

My father waits

for my mother

to butcher the sheep

and to cook a piece

for his breakfast.

Then my father finds his horse.

He ties an empty flour sackbehind his saddle.

He ties an empty flour sack

behind his saddle.

He wraps his blanket about himand leaning his bodyagainst the stormhe rides to the Trading Post.

He wraps his blanket about him

and leaning his body

against the storm

he rides to the Trading Post.

My father ridesinto the snow-filled world.

My father rides

into the snow-filled world.

His blanket and his horseare the only colorsmovingthrough the white.

His blanket and his horse

are the only colors

moving

through the white.

Snow comes into my heartfilling it with coldwhen I seemy father ride away.

Snow comes into my heart

filling it with cold

when I see

my father ride away.

For a little whileI sit in the hoganthinking of my fatherriding along the snowy trailto the Trading Post.Snow stops falling.Cold blows its blue breathacross the white.I help my mother shovel snow.We make a path to the sheep corraland to my grandmother's hogan.The snow, so soft to feel,is hard to shovel.The cold slaps at my face.It traps my hands and my feetin icy feeling.My mother takes meinto the hogan.She rubs my face and handsand my feet with snow.Soonlittle hot painscome to playwith my cold fingersand my cold toes.Soon the icy feeling goes away.

For a little whileI sit in the hoganthinking of my fatherriding along the snowy trailto the Trading Post.

For a little while

I sit in the hogan

thinking of my father

riding along the snowy trail

to the Trading Post.

Snow stops falling.Cold blows its blue breathacross the white.

Snow stops falling.

Cold blows its blue breath

across the white.

I help my mother shovel snow.

We make a path to the sheep corraland to my grandmother's hogan.

We make a path to the sheep corral

and to my grandmother's hogan.

The snow, so soft to feel,is hard to shovel.

The snow, so soft to feel,

is hard to shovel.

The cold slaps at my face.

It traps my hands and my feetin icy feeling.

It traps my hands and my feet

in icy feeling.

My mother takes meinto the hogan.

My mother takes me

into the hogan.

She rubs my face and handsand my feet with snow.

She rubs my face and hands

and my feet with snow.

Soonlittle hot painscome to playwith my cold fingersand my cold toes.Soon the icy feeling goes away.

Soon

little hot pains

come to play

with my cold fingers

and my cold toes.

Soon the icy feeling goes away.

The day moves slowly.My father does not come backalong the trail.It is far to the Trading Post.The snow is deep.I think of my fatherand his concho belt.I look at my mother's finger.One finger looks barewithout its turquoise ring.I pull my sleeve downover my bracelet.PerhapsI should have given itto my father.My grandmother comes to see us.She brings a piece of breadfor meand for my motherto eat with our meat.She brings a piece of string.She shows me howto make Cat's Cradles.She shows me howto make "It-Is-Twisted."We make Bird's-Nest and Butterfliesand Coyotes-Running-Apartwith the piece of string.

The day moves slowly.

My father does not come backalong the trail.

My father does not come back

along the trail.

It is far to the Trading Post.

The snow is deep.

I think of my fatherand his concho belt.

I think of my father

and his concho belt.

I look at my mother's finger.

One finger looks barewithout its turquoise ring.

One finger looks bare

without its turquoise ring.

I pull my sleeve downover my bracelet.

I pull my sleeve down

over my bracelet.

PerhapsI should have given itto my father.

Perhaps

I should have given it

to my father.

My grandmother comes to see us.

She brings a piece of breadfor meand for my motherto eat with our meat.

She brings a piece of bread

for me

and for my mother

to eat with our meat.

She brings a piece of string.

She shows me howto make Cat's Cradles.

She shows me how

to make Cat's Cradles.

She shows me howto make "It-Is-Twisted."

She shows me how

to make "It-Is-Twisted."

We make Bird's-Nest and Butterfliesand Coyotes-Running-Apartwith the piece of string.

We make Bird's-Nest and Butterflies

and Coyotes-Running-Apart

with the piece of string.

We hear my father singingas he rides alongthe snowy trail.My grandmother goes to her hoganand my mother and I,we stand together,laughing.We stand togetheroutside our door,happy becausemy father comes back again.Behind my father's saddleis tiedthe flour sack filled with food.It is not empty now,but a sackof bumps and bumps,and heavy looking.In front of himmy father carriesa dry wood boxthat the Trader gave him.

We hear my father singingas he rides alongthe snowy trail.

We hear my father singing

as he rides along

the snowy trail.

My grandmother goes to her hoganand my mother and I,we stand together,laughing.

My grandmother goes to her hogan

and my mother and I,

we stand together,

laughing.

We stand togetheroutside our door,happy becausemy father comes back again.

We stand together

outside our door,

happy because

my father comes back again.

Behind my father's saddleis tiedthe flour sack filled with food.

Behind my father's saddle

is tied

the flour sack filled with food.

It is not empty now,but a sackof bumps and bumps,and heavy looking.

It is not empty now,

but a sack

of bumps and bumps,

and heavy looking.

In front of himmy father carriesa dry wood boxthat the Trader gave him.

In front of him

my father carries

a dry wood box

that the Trader gave him.

My mother takes the sack of food.I take the dry wood box.My father takes the saddlefrom his horse.We go into the hoganwith our bundles in our arms.My mother breaks the boxwith her foot.She breaks the pieces across her knee.She feeds them to the fire.The dry wood boxmakes the fire flame dancein the hogan fire.My mother puts meat to cook.She mixes flour and water,a little ball of lard,a little pinch of saltin our round tin bowl.She takes some outand pats it flat,and pats it round,and pats it thin,and throws it ina kettle full of boiling fat.This hunger pain inside meis bigger now than I am.It is the smell of cooking foodthat makes it grow, I think.Soon the fried breadin the hot fatswells big and brown.Soon the meatin the stew potmakes bubbling noises.Coffee boilssmelling strong and good.The hunger painis now so bigI cannot understandWhy I do not see it.

My mother takes the sack of food.

I take the dry wood box.

My father takes the saddlefrom his horse.

My father takes the saddle

from his horse.

We go into the hoganwith our bundles in our arms.

We go into the hogan

with our bundles in our arms.

My mother breaks the boxwith her foot.

My mother breaks the box

with her foot.

She breaks the pieces across her knee.

She feeds them to the fire.

The dry wood boxmakes the fire flame dancein the hogan fire.

The dry wood box

makes the fire flame dance

in the hogan fire.

My mother puts meat to cook.

She mixes flour and water,a little ball of lard,a little pinch of saltin our round tin bowl.

She mixes flour and water,

a little ball of lard,

a little pinch of salt

in our round tin bowl.

She takes some outand pats it flat,and pats it round,and pats it thin,and throws it ina kettle full of boiling fat.

She takes some out

and pats it flat,

and pats it round,

and pats it thin,

and throws it in

a kettle full of boiling fat.

This hunger pain inside meis bigger now than I am.

This hunger pain inside me

is bigger now than I am.

It is the smell of cooking foodthat makes it grow, I think.

It is the smell of cooking food

that makes it grow, I think.

Soon the fried breadin the hot fatswells big and brown.

Soon the fried bread

in the hot fat

swells big and brown.

Soon the meatin the stew potmakes bubbling noises.

Soon the meat

in the stew pot

makes bubbling noises.

Coffee boilssmelling strong and good.

Coffee boils

smelling strong and good.

The hunger painis now so bigI cannot understandWhy I do not see it.

The hunger pain

is now so big

I cannot understand

Why I do not see it.

Now we are eatingthe good food.We eat slowly.We eat a long time.The hunger pain is gone.It went somewhere,but I do not know when,it left so quickly.My father tells usthat the wife of Tall-Man's brothersuffers from something.She is sick.My father tells usthat tomorrowthere will be a Singfor this womanwho has sickness.We will go,he says,if the sun shines tomorrow.We will go to the hoganof the wife of Tall-Man's brother.

Now we are eatingthe good food.

Now we are eating

the good food.

We eat slowly.

We eat a long time.

The hunger pain is gone.

It went somewhere,but I do not know when,it left so quickly.

It went somewhere,

but I do not know when,

it left so quickly.

My father tells usthat the wife of Tall-Man's brothersuffers from something.

My father tells us

that the wife of Tall-Man's brother

suffers from something.

She is sick.

My father tells usthat tomorrowthere will be a Singfor this womanwho has sickness.

My father tells us

that tomorrow

there will be a Sing

for this woman

who has sickness.

We will go,he says,if the sun shines tomorrow.

We will go,

he says,

if the sun shines tomorrow.

We will go to the hoganof the wife of Tall-Man's brother.

We will go to the hogan

of the wife of Tall-Man's brother.

Now that I am warmand have no painand feel well fedwith my mother's good cooking,I feel sleepyand glad.Lying on my blanket bedon the floor of the hogan,I say to myselfover and over,"If the sun shines tomorrowwe will go to the Sing."

Now that I am warmand have no painand feel well fedwith my mother's good cooking,I feel sleepyand glad.

Now that I am warm

and have no pain

and feel well fed

with my mother's good cooking,

I feel sleepy

and glad.

Lying on my blanket bedon the floor of the hogan,I say to myselfover and over,"If the sun shines tomorrowwe will go to the Sing."

Lying on my blanket bed

on the floor of the hogan,

I say to myself

over and over,

"If the sun shines tomorrow

we will go to the Sing."

Last night went quicklywith sleeping.It is tomorrownow.I open my eyesto a beautiful worldof sun and snow.Everywhere I lookthe snow shinesas if someonehad sprinkled itwith broken bits of stars.My father says,"snow is good for the land.When the sun melts itthe thirsty sanddrinks in the snow water."Grass patches show again.They look fresh and clean.The goats hurry abouteating all they can.Even the sheep movemore quickly,eating.

Last night went quicklywith sleeping.

Last night went quickly

with sleeping.

It is tomorrownow.

It is tomorrow

now.

I open my eyesto a beautiful worldof sun and snow.

I open my eyes

to a beautiful world

of sun and snow.

Everywhere I lookthe snow shinesas if someonehad sprinkled itwith broken bits of stars.

Everywhere I look

the snow shines

as if someone

had sprinkled it

with broken bits of stars.

My father says,"snow is good for the land.

My father says,

"snow is good for the land.

When the sun melts itthe thirsty sanddrinks in the snow water."

When the sun melts it

the thirsty sand

drinks in the snow water."

Grass patches show again.

They look fresh and clean.

The goats hurry abouteating all they can.

The goats hurry about

eating all they can.

Even the sheep movemore quickly,eating.

Even the sheep move

more quickly,

eating.

My father goes for dry wood.He has to go to the foothillsto get it.My mother cooks bread and meat.I sit by the door in the sunshineand think about the Sing.My grandmother comesto my mother's hogan.She will look after the sheepwhile we are gone to the Sing.The sun shines.The sun shines.Soon we will goto the Sing,the Sing.After awhilemy father comes back withthe wagon.He piles the wood near the hogan.He says he is readyto go to the Singand we are ready, too.It is not far.Not long afterthe sun has finished with the daywe will get there.We will get to the hoganof the wife of Tall-Man's brother.We will be at the Sing,the Sing,the Sing.The ruts in the roadare deepand frozen.The wheels of the wagonhave a song of their own.I sit in the back of the wagonin a nest made of blankets.I listen to the songof the rolling wagon wheels.My father sits on the wagon seat.He is driving his horses.My mother sits beside him.Straight and tallmy mother sitson the wagon seatbeside my father.My father singsas he drives along.He is happy.He sings, "Now is winter.Thunder sleeps.Falls the snow.Thunder sleeps.Grass is gone.Thunder sleeps.Birds are gone.Thunder sleeps.Warmth is gone from the sands,from the red rocks,from the canyons.Thunder sleeps.It sleeps."In my father's wagonwe go.Behind my father's horseswe go.On the trail of the Holy Songswe goto hear the voices of the Gods.

My father goes for dry wood.

He has to go to the foothillsto get it.

He has to go to the foothills

to get it.

My mother cooks bread and meat.

I sit by the door in the sunshineand think about the Sing.

I sit by the door in the sunshine

and think about the Sing.

My grandmother comesto my mother's hogan.

My grandmother comes

to my mother's hogan.

She will look after the sheepwhile we are gone to the Sing.

She will look after the sheep

while we are gone to the Sing.

The sun shines.

Soon we will goto the Sing,the Sing.

Soon we will go

to the Sing,

the Sing.

After awhilemy father comes back withthe wagon.

After awhile

my father comes back with

the wagon.

He piles the wood near the hogan.

He says he is readyto go to the Singand we are ready, too.

He says he is ready

to go to the Sing

and we are ready, too.

It is not far.

Not long afterthe sun has finished with the daywe will get there.

Not long after

the sun has finished with the day

we will get there.

We will get to the hoganof the wife of Tall-Man's brother.

We will get to the hogan

of the wife of Tall-Man's brother.

We will be at the Sing,the Sing,the Sing.

We will be at the Sing,

the Sing,

the Sing.

The ruts in the roadare deepand frozen.

The ruts in the road

are deep

and frozen.

The wheels of the wagonhave a song of their own.

The wheels of the wagon

have a song of their own.

I sit in the back of the wagonin a nest made of blankets.

I sit in the back of the wagon

in a nest made of blankets.

I listen to the songof the rolling wagon wheels.

I listen to the song

of the rolling wagon wheels.

My father sits on the wagon seat.

He is driving his horses.

My mother sits beside him.

Straight and tallmy mother sitson the wagon seatbeside my father.

Straight and tall

my mother sits

on the wagon seat

beside my father.

My father singsas he drives along.

My father sings

as he drives along.

He is happy.

He sings, "Now is winter.

Thunder sleeps.

Falls the snow.

Thunder sleeps.

Grass is gone.

Thunder sleeps.

Birds are gone.

Thunder sleeps.

Warmth is gone from the sands,from the red rocks,from the canyons.

Warmth is gone from the sands,

from the red rocks,

from the canyons.

Thunder sleeps.

It sleeps."

In my father's wagonwe go.

In my father's wagon

we go.

Behind my father's horseswe go.

Behind my father's horses

we go.

On the trail of the Holy Songswe goto hear the voices of the Gods.

On the trail of the Holy Songs

we go

to hear the voices of the Gods.

It will be a long timebefore the night sky bends downand the stars hang lowand the supper firesof the camping peopledot the night.Our wagoncomes within the circlesof supper fires,comes within the circleof firelight,and I see all the Peoplewho have come to the Sing.There are many People here.There are many horses here.There are many wagons here.There is one truck.It makes me happy to seeall of the Peoplewalking aroundand standing and sitting.It makes me happy to seeall the colors that there arein the skirts of the womenin the shirts of the menand in the blanketsthat all the People wear.I can seethe horses,all the horses.I can see a race horsethat belongs to a manmy uncle knows.After the Sing is over,the men will race their horses.My father will betwhich horse will win.And thenperhapshe will wina better concho beltthan the onehe has in pawnto the Trader.There is a new hoganbuilt just for the Sing.There are some sheltersbuilt just for the Sing,and at one sideis the Cook Shadewhere all kinds of foodsare cooking.The smell of foodmakes me happy.I thinkit is goodto be happywhen food is near.As it gets darkermore fires are lightedand within the circlea big one burns.Smoke gets in my eyesand I can taste itin my mouth.In the folds of my mother's blanket,in the warmth of mymother's blanket,in the quiet of mymother's blanket,close to her heartI sleepand awakento hear the Gods,the Singers of Songs.

It will be a long timebefore the night sky bends downand the stars hang lowand the supper firesof the camping peopledot the night.

It will be a long time

before the night sky bends down

and the stars hang low

and the supper fires

of the camping people

dot the night.

Our wagoncomes within the circlesof supper fires,comes within the circleof firelight,and I see all the Peoplewho have come to the Sing.

Our wagon

comes within the circles

of supper fires,

comes within the circle

of firelight,

and I see all the People

who have come to the Sing.

There are many People here.

There are many horses here.

There are many wagons here.

There is one truck.

It makes me happy to seeall of the Peoplewalking aroundand standing and sitting.

It makes me happy to see

all of the People

walking around

and standing and sitting.

It makes me happy to seeall the colors that there arein the skirts of the womenin the shirts of the menand in the blanketsthat all the People wear.

It makes me happy to see

all the colors that there are

in the skirts of the women

in the shirts of the men

and in the blankets

that all the People wear.

I can seethe horses,all the horses.

I can see

the horses,

all the horses.

I can see a race horsethat belongs to a manmy uncle knows.

I can see a race horse

that belongs to a man

my uncle knows.

After the Sing is over,the men will race their horses.

After the Sing is over,

the men will race their horses.

My father will betwhich horse will win.

My father will bet

which horse will win.

And thenperhapshe will wina better concho beltthan the onehe has in pawnto the Trader.

And then

perhaps

he will win

a better concho belt

than the one

he has in pawn

to the Trader.

There is a new hoganbuilt just for the Sing.

There is a new hogan

built just for the Sing.

There are some sheltersbuilt just for the Sing,and at one sideis the Cook Shadewhere all kinds of foodsare cooking.

There are some shelters

built just for the Sing,

and at one side

is the Cook Shade

where all kinds of foods

are cooking.

The smell of foodmakes me happy.

The smell of food

makes me happy.

I thinkit is goodto be happywhen food is near.

I think

it is good

to be happy

when food is near.

As it gets darkermore fires are lightedand within the circlea big one burns.

As it gets darker

more fires are lighted

and within the circle

a big one burns.

Smoke gets in my eyesand I can taste itin my mouth.

Smoke gets in my eyes

and I can taste it

in my mouth.

In the folds of my mother's blanket,in the warmth of mymother's blanket,in the quiet of mymother's blanket,close to her heartI sleepand awakento hear the Gods,the Singers of Songs.

In the folds of my mother's blanket,

in the warmth of my

mother's blanket,

in the quiet of my

mother's blanket,

close to her heart

I sleep

and awaken

to hear the Gods,

the Singers of Songs.

Back to Index Next