Sometimes alone when out hunting I lay awake looking to the night sky.
It is black and full of stars, so many you cannot count them all.
They are the spirits of ancestors who once trod our land.
I wonder when i look at them all the things they have seen, the civilisations, tribes and once great people who have ever been since they were put in the sky by wisake-kachack and th'Kisemanito.
Our stars have stories, names and history like your stars. Your stories of the stars taught to you in school and are stories from Greece I think and Rome, far off places.
Our stories were taught to us by our elders when we' were out in the forest or bush at night, sitting by the camp fire.
Our stories will one time vanish and no longer be heard or known.
But I look into the sky, and think at all the things I hear go on in our planet and I try to understand how small we are by comparison.
Compared to the night sky and all the stars in it we live on just a tiny little speck of dust that if we were thrown into the sky you could not see and no one would notice.
This maybe why we should take more care of the little bit of dust and all who share it with us.
Looking at the sky at night gives me great joy, as it reminds me of countless nights under the sky when I was younger, stories told by their light, hard days on the trail and those whove gone before. For me it is like a story book. No one can take it away from us.
It is bigger than us.
