The way that the stalks of smúkwaʔxn…
… fall and dry tells us of the weather and how water is passing through the soil as does the sound of our footsteps through them …
They talk to us, in other words, and we can read them. They carry maps, and hold them up, and these maps tell of the sun and the life within it in the wind.
Look how they curl over when they strike the soil. There is a twist to smúkwaʔxn…
… and many stories crowding in a concert of song, of twisted ears both for catching sound and amplifying it, together and apart.
Among them, story flows, but not as one line; as many. The connections between them are not logical or accumulative, but common, together.
And we’re not the only ones who read them, yet…
… in reading we are one.
Categories: First Peoples, Grasslands, heritage seed, Nature Photography, Spirit
Okanagan Okanogan 
Re: The sound of walking on the dried leaves. . . This resonates with me. I like listening to that sound, too, although the plants are different here. My friend once told me that hunting moose when the sun is shining and the aspen leaves are thick on the ground is like walking on cornflakes (no good for the hunter). I happen to love the sound, too, and have never shot a moose. Maybe there’s a connection. I planted some bur oaks here in Quick and seeing a few leaves hanging on all winter and others littering [sic] the ground is wonderful. I know I’m running on here, but did you ever listen the squeaking sound of cows grazing green grass?
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Quick I’ve always admired, the aspen leaf thing is wondrous, and scented, too, a bur oak is strange to me, sounds like North Carolina, weird, and cows grazing on grass, sadly, my ears have been bad since I was 15, and before that no cows. Just an unhappy goat and an unhappy turtle, plus scorpions and rattlers. it was fun playing with the rattler when I was 2.
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