Sandhill cranes that have headed south to avoid the northern winter gather beneath a cottonwood tree whose final expression of color is reflected in the water. Photo courtesy Robert Dunn/Wikipedia

Hi MoJo Friends,

Happy New Year and Happy Solstice from out on the prairie.

These past few days here along Mni Sose have been extremely frigid, kind of like what i remember in the 40’s and 50’s. Those old stories of walking a mile to school in below freezing weather with the wing howling in your face ring true for me. No, they are not apocryphal tales.

I still love this weather, land and all the surprises it brings.

Besides deep dreaming and working on winter projects, this moon in our culture is the time for storytelling. I sat on the laps of some of the best storytellers and I remember hundreds of stories. Telling stories is how we stay together. It is how we learn about each other and how we stay connected. Some of my favorites were the Star Stories. I invite the readers to look up the story of the Star in the Cottonwood Tree.

I am constantly guided by the morals of stories and where they have led me in my life and writing.

Stay warm over there in the mountains and wherever these word find you.

All my best,

Lois

Tree Roots and Trunks, a painting by Vincent van Gogh (1890), artwork in the public domain and creative commons license through Wikipedia

Roots

by Lois Red Elk

Roots are resting now,

buried deep below the freezing line

in prime loam, where

quantities of lineal growth

live in tiny strings extending to

veins, to the Maka of

beginnings,

maturity, life, to a pulse deep

under scattered cottonwood trees.

Language has translated

now to hear passages

vibrating between Iyan and

Mni, in support of Wagachan,

sometimes trickling

then slowing into solid crystals

like the river above.

My dialect passes extant for dialogue

with dreaming branches,

anxious for stories

collected among twig skins,

leaf lines, bark layers.

I can now reconvene dream talk

with Wichahpi people who have

been waiting for

Waniyetu to fill our

plane, satisfy our human cycle.

They are welcoming by

reminding my body

of their last story of travel,

to this camp, living

in trees to be close to humans.

Star spirit aids by

refilling my spirit with

the S’kan S’kan of Maka.

They beg to hear the laughter and

joyous stories coming from

the children, the people.

I close my eyes,

open chambers of Cante’

give my rhythm to roots.

©Lois Red Elk

Mni Sosa—Missouri River

Maka—Earth

Iyan—Stone

Mni—Water

Wagachan—Cottonwood

Wichahpi—Star

Waniyetu—Winter

S’kanS’kan—Movement

Cante’—Heart

POSTNOTE : We are pleased that Lois is working away on a new collection of poems and will let you know when it is published. In the meantime, ask for her other volumes at your favorite local bookseller: Our Blood Remembers , winner of the best non-fiction award from Woodcraft Circle of Native Writers and Storytellers; Dragonfly Weather ; and Why I Return to Makoce with a foreword from Montana’s recent state poet laureate Lowell Jaeger and nominated for a High Plains Book Award in poetry. Given headlines that continue to appear about the discoveries of new atrocities committed at boarding schools for indigenous children, we encourage you to read Lois’ contribution to MoJo that appeared in June, The Unspeakable Past Of Indian Boarding Schools

Make sure you never miss a Lois Red Elk poem by signing up for Mountain Journal‘s free weekly newsletter. Click here: https://bit.ly/3cYVBtK

Lois Red Elk-Reed is a poet who calls the high plains home. She is Mountain Journal's poet in residence.

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