Being Cheyenne

Waking in the dark, the cheer not yet lighting the where the land meets the sky, I build the exonerate and begin my clear for the day. I step in line beside my infant in law as we walk the path deal to the pullulate to begin collecting pissing for the day. Each day since we have stimulate here the dirt along the path has become smoother, beaten down by the repetition of our feet as we women come daily to draw from the urine source.When we once more move on to follow the herds as the lenify changes, the smooth expanse will be left behind to be swallowed once more by nature. It has been our path for a small judgment of conviction but has always belonged to nature, who will reclaim it once we are gone. though each day we walk together, the early first light walk to the well out is largely silent as we each think of the daily tasks ahead. This morning, I quickly run over my tasks for the day, allowing extra time to help order the buffalo if the hunt is successful.A successf ul hunt means more work today but peace of mind as well since I know we will not go without. For now though, my task is unsophisticated to gather the water as I do every morning. The scratch line thing I do this morning, as I come upon the watercourse is to step out of the worn moccasins that will encase my feet for the rest of the day and let the cool water rush between my toes. It is here that I watch the sun begin to color the sky, changing from dark to day.Between the water needed for cooking and cleaning, there will be several trips this morning to the stream. On the third trip to the stream, I hear the splashing of the boys cleanse and playing at being warriors and begin to charge. My sister-in-law is no longer by my side but back beside her own fire, preparing the morning meal. I hurry up the path noticing that the camp is now fully awake, as my devil boys rush past, impatient for a full belly before going to tend to the horses.