NativeAmerican.Blood

Snow keeps falling like it wants to erase names,
but her braid is a long rope of time
and it does not break.

Pines bend under white weight,
branches lowered like quiet elders,
and the trail narrows to one honest line
through the cold.

She stands at the edge of the path,
blanket pulled tight, patterns loud against winter,
as if color itself is a refusal
to disappear.

Her face holds every season it survived,
creases like river maps,
eyes sharp enough to read distance
through the snowfall.

Behind her, riders come slow,
horses breathing steam into the air,
boots and hooves finding the same track
she once learned by heart.

They follow her without asking,
not because she speaks the most,
but because she has already paid
for every lesson the storm teaches.

The forest tries to make everything silent,
yet the snow still tells on them
with each step,
each soft crackle,
each promise of movement.

She does not turn away from the cold.
She turns toward the ones behind her
and lets her gaze do the work.

If fear shows up, it won’t find a home here.
If doubt shows up, it will have to stand
outside the blanket’s edge.

Winter can take heat.
It can take daylight.
But it cannot take direction
from someone who remembers.

So they ride on,
not chasing glory,
just chasing safety,
just chasing the next sheltering trees.

And the trail stays open
because she is still standing there,
looking back,
making sure nobody gets lost.

Living on the shores of Lake Erie, if you walk the shoreline in search of driftwood and shells or beach glass, you might come across little ivory-like treasures of stone.
Our history tells us that they were found in Indian archeological digs and uses were for decorations and to ward off illness.
Known as "Lucky Stones" or "Lucky Pieces" you'll find the letter "L" or "J" on them.
So what exactly are they.
They are the ear bones from the freshwater drum, commonly known as the … Xem thêm