Melanie Marie Shifflett Ridner
Great Spirit On top of this mountain I stand to pray to the Four Corners. I call upon the Great Spirit to watch over all. The village needs your strength. Wisdom to come as it grows. Our Mother Earth changes seasons to help us through the centuries. And show us the ways of the land. The old ones to whisper on the breezes so that we may hear their wisdom. I ask for protection for all as we journey once again. Here, Great Spirit, you listen and we learn. Great Spirit guide us well.
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The Four Winds
Falling Leaves The forests are turning once more. Our lands are many colors. Golden yellows, bright burnt reds, Falling leaves everywhere, Our Mother Earth decorating herself in colors before the snow falls. A time of gathering for the tribes to come now. Cool days with bright sunshine to hurry us along as we work. The winds blow warm and cold at once. Soon Mother Earth will go to rest when the snow falls. But for now, she is beauty in her Falling Leaves.
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Melanie Marie Shifflett Ridner
Swift Winds I, as Butterfly Woman, sit in the fall sun to warm my weary bones. Swift winds bring news to my senses that winter soon returns once more. As an old one I sense the change faster than the younger ones. I gather herbs and plants for the rough winter ahead. My duty first to the tribe above all else, the tribe is first. Many teas and medicines will be needed this winter. The swift winds tell me this cold one will be long and fierce. For now I work, and smell, and pay attention to the swift winds.
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The Four Winds
Golden Forests Golden are the forests. From hunter green to golden yellow and bright red with crimson, the seasons change in fiery hue. Seasons changing as I, Little Bear, hunt for meat for when the winter snows come. Beauty as I watch a doe slide by. I slip to the ground as I see a buck in its entire splendor pause. Quiet and swift I send an arrow to his heart. The day will be long as I walk to retrieve and skin my catch. Leaves fall lightly to the ground. Snow to come, soon in the air. As the mists float above, I smell it coming. For now I must hurry and return to the tribe. Golden Forests await Winter’s Sleep.
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