PicoBlog

 Once upon a time on the rez, we found a dead deer so decayed that it had become a carpet on the forest floor— its brown and white hide draped over green and yellow wild grass. We Indian kids, who already understood more about death than we should've, marveled aloud at the beautiful finality of that deer. It had become a relic that required brief worship, first with a child's words and then with a child's silence. After our little service, we walked farther into the woods and continued our prayer and play elsewhere. We Indian kids were poor, half- broken, and afraid on too many days, but we also knew there are thousands of ways to be blessed by wilderness. 

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