The old man's chair propped easily against the clapboard wall.
His dark eyes watched the stranger on the path.
The young man spoke,"I'm new here and was told
that you might share some ancient Indian lore."

The cane-back anchored slowly on all four legs
as a chiseled face made contact eye to eye.
It scanned his city clothes and soft-skin cowboy boots.
"You bring wampum or fire-water for the Chief?"

His words were "B grade" movie stuff, with deeper meaning.
"Well I do have money and would pay you for your time."
The Chief smiled,"Give no mind. It's an Indian tease."

The old man's face now turned hard and sad.

"Look to the north! Those purple hills once stirred
with pulsing life; the buffalo and bird.
Our tribal roots are buried in this sand
where Maize once fed us from the verdant land.

Our people fished that long-dead stream a thousand years!"
His eyes now glistened with unfallen tears.
"I watched it die as roads chopped through it's bed,
where years gone by the brook and browns were bred.

You want to know of tribal lore long past?
I cannot now recall. The days have passed so fast.
Speak not with me to learn who we once were.
Move near this dying land and speak to her."

His chair propped back and balanced on two legs.
The stranger mumbled, "Thanks", and walked away.
A car sped by,followed by a truck of waving logs.
Sun and dust glazed purple hills an ugly brown.