Frank J. Tassone is hosting for Haibun Monday at dVerse Poets Pub and he asks us to consider “indigenous.” Since my grandmother was a Native American and indigenous person, my perception may be a little different than others. Always remember that it is never my intention to offend or to belittle the suffering Native Americans endured.
Great Spirit’s Headress
Listen, child listen. Grandmother takes my hand and leads me through the Fall leaves. They crunch under my small feet, making tiny sounds. The colors surround us. She calls it the Great Spirit’s Headress. Maple and ash, sourwood, aspen and sweetgum all vie for title of the most beautiful.
Long ago she left the lands of her people, like the Fall leaves, not departing in despair but in love. Making way for the quiet of Winter and the bloom of Spring, she forged a new life, a new way. Old hatreds were left behind, forgotten, falling like the changing leaves rustling in the wind.
Grandmother’s way was
always clear, the way of love
the way of the trees
Til next time ~Peace ~JPP