November 9
The land has taken on the look of Thanksgiving time, of fallen acorns and pecans and walnuts. Now we see the bare branches of oaks like muscled arms lifted towards the sky, and fragrant smoke settles in the valley and hangs like gauzy curtains along the river.
Southbound geese, called by the Cherokee sa sa-u ni go di, still put down in the open fields to feed, to flap their huge wings, and to honk. They are not the least startled by passersby. It was a time like this when Wolf George came to my grandmother's bearing a beautiful turkey for dinner. E li si said, "A fine turkey, good tasting. Did you raise it?" In his gruff full-blood tones he told the truth as he saw it. "No, ma'am. Saw it roosting. Got it before someone stole it."
If any white man steal our stock, I will report it openly.
SATANTA
KIOWA
1800's
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