Flying Bird, flame reader, looks at fire with one eye shut, tells us where food is found like a sky bird seeing.
Original melody on Native American Flute and original art (ball-point black pen on newsprint) by Paul A. L. Hall of paulhallart on You Tube.
See Flying Bird as usual looking at the flames of the fire with only one eye open. After a while, as sleep fled from us anxiously we waited in the half shade, on the ground, sitting and clutching our knees with our folded arms waiting.
And then our hearts almost stopped. In the stillness of the night and the flicker of the flames, we saw a bird of smoke fly toward the heavens above the old man's head. He was comfortable, in his squalor, for he had little gear. Then the bird of smoke, high in the heavens, would disclose to us all where to go in one day, in six days, and there find the game we needed to hunt.
He came from a line of those who painted on stones. In caves on the walls, they painted where to find food. Sometimes it was game, sometimes wild rice or maize. Or where to fish. Always keeping us from the territory of others.
Then came the day Flying Bird went home leaving his body forever. But he would also appear to us in dreams, and teach us to watch the dance of the flames as well ...