Moon at Midnight – Part XXV (day 1999)

(part XXIV)

Winter was cold and long
But we had each other and lots of buffalo meat
So what else could a person ask for?
Moon Cow would very often come over
To our teepee and we would all talk,
Moon Cow being the interpreter most of the time
We would go walking when we could
Through the snow following tracks here and there
It became a game on the nice days
On the cold days it was a chore
But there is no other way
When you live off the land.

I spent a lot of time learning Pikanii that winter
A lot of my white man words
Neither Willow nor Moon Cow could comprehend
Things they just had never seen
They had a beautiful language
That spoke mostly of what was important
They were all eager to learn my language too
So they could prosper with the traders
That would return in the spring.

The family grew accustomed to me
Seeing my familiar face around
And as I learned new words
I would usually surprise them when I would comment
On something they were doing,
Or just friendly greetings, smiling as we passed each other.

Willow didn’t cook as good as Moon Cow did
But Willow had a wider vocabulary of herbs and spices
That I greatly appreciated
Especially when it came to fighting off colds
For Willow also knew medicines well
She taught me how to identify many
By sight and by smell
And I would accompany her when we would wander about
Looking for roots and bulbs through the winter
As treats for our palette.

day XXVI

Memory Smells (day 541)

There’s a certain smell that works
That lingers around indefinitely
Feeling of home: thoughts, memories
It’s nice to be back

Things like this hit you first
Usually when the door opens
Friends used to say mothers cooking
Was the best thing about my house

The old work truck, shiny and blue
Still works. It’s a service truck now
Hauling around gas for the big guys
It’s got that western smell of leather

No matter how much I’d wash
All those shoulder pads and socks
My hockey gear would always end up
With that sweet smell of victory

When I crack a beer, one of my fathers beers
And a little white mist rises out
Only with the glass bottles do I remember
Stealing dad’s beers late at night

But of all my memory smells wafting around
I remember one that’s never returned
When I’d learn guitar in a tiny room
E – A – D – G – B – E ~strum