We would ask you of the earth that color of wet bark, your planting of dreams under the sweating sun, your harvest of memories in the tears of the moon.

We left you fire from our lodges, the fire of yearning; see it glows even now in the yellow corn, dances upon the waters of the Nishnabotna, and sparkles in young eyes as if our arrows knew your flint.

We are the "Makers of Fire"--- come close, stay warm. We are brothers in the Wind, Children in the corn. In this sea of earth let us walk in a scared manner upon the Red Road of peace carved in the palm of the Great Spirit, Father of us all making fire!

---Clark Olmstead