Morning. Stars filled the night sky when I last looked. Then a good wind blew. Moving clouds in. Then out. Leaving just enough to catch and mix the morning sun rays into a painting a photo could never justify.
Morning and I find myself on 40 acres of the local Episcopal Diocese. Acres who lie within the boundaries of the Standing Rock Nation. Not all that far from where protesting and water protection occurred just a few years ago. Like so much, those days of protesting of the Dakota Access Pipeline have been lost in the continual data and news stream filling our phones, computers, and televisions.
Morning comes after yesterday evenings powwow. The first for the young adults who’ve come to this place. The evening was a moment of beginnings. Sights. Sounds. Dust. Conversation. A group of non-Natives wondering what and whom and how this landscape is different than their home place. Dancers, speakers, children. A different story to learn. Not new. But new to them.
Morning and the sun breaks over the horizon.
Chewing the Cud 