And When I Breathed, My Breath Was

The Life Of An Indian Is Like The Wings Of The Air. That Is Why You Notice The Hawk Knows How To Get His Prey. The Indian Is Like That. The Hawk Swoops Down On Its Prey, So Does The Indian. In His Lament He Is Like An Animal. For Instance, The Coyote Is Sly, So Is The Indian. The Eagle Is The Same. That Is Why The Indian Is Always Feathered Up, He Is A Relative To The Wings Of The Air.

Out Of The Indian Approach To Life There Came A Great Freedom, An Intense And Absorbing Respect For Life, Enriching Faith In A Supreme Power, And Principles Of Truth, Honesty, Generosity, Equity, And Brotherhood As A Guide To Mundane Relations.

But I Think I Have Done Right To Save The Vision In This Way, Even Though I May Die Sooner Because I Did It; For I Know The Meaning Of The Vision Is Wise And Beautiful And Good; And You Can See That I Am Only A Pitiful Old Man After All.

But If The Vision Was True And Mighty, As I Know, It Is True And Mighty Yet;for Such Things Are Of Spirit, And It Is In The Darkness Of Their Eyes That Men Get Lost.

Even The Seasons Form A Great Circle In Their Changing, And Always Come Back Again To Where They Were. The Life Of A Person Is A Circle From Childhood To Childhood, And So It Is In Everything Where Power Moves.