With splendid costumes of feathers covering their arms and flowing down their backs, young men performed as if they were in flight. The flurry of the winged celebrants blurred against a growing sun that was pushed back by true hawks circling over the powwow. Black-Hawk spread his wings in decent towards Richard with open talons until he blotted out the intensity of the sun. Richard felt him self rise up off the ground, his face to the sun, his back to the earth. Voices calling out to him from a great distance bid him to rise higher in the sky. Circling hawks were talking to him, though he could not understand their language. Their voices blasted away louder each time trying to pass on a message to Richard.
•  © 2005 Kathy Johnson