INSIDE THIS ISSUE:
Alan Britt
Lisa Schmidt
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I WALK THE TRAIL OF MY FATHERS following in the footprints of my grandfather and my father. Their moccasins bigger, their strides wider, their imprints deeper and longer lasting from early berry season into the time of the harvest moon's changing colors. The weight of my ancestors rests lightly on my shoulders. The great spirits must be kind with me for I want to learn all the traditions, become able to participate in all the rituals, grow into a brave young man, one able to steer a canoe, carry the old when we move for game, hunt with the best, and one day tell stories around our fires. As I walk I watch the animals--furred rabbits hiding in the brush, squirrels flying from oak to oak, the eagle circling over the pines nearby, and the small creatures crossing my path--such as snakes, slugs, and even some tiny ants. For in so doing I may learn the ways of our earth and the means of co-existing in peace with all. Great Father, watch over me now, help me grow.
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