Woozchiid-is a time for strong winds, a time when the winds blow and the snow goes away. Way out in the sticks, where the days are slow and the clouds ride the wind way up high you can sit and watch them all day. In looking from a high point on the mesa you can see the shadows move slowly following an ant trail as it moves small boulders across the ground to a mound a little ways off. In the distance there is a wagon with iron wheels headed to the trading pos. Old man Salt and his kids are headed that way to check the mail and buy a few things like Blue Bird flour, coffee and maybe some sweet stuff like a can of peaches. In the distance there are pinon trees and juniper with their shaggy bark like spotted specks dropping off to the flat lands. The wind blows and the rush of it passing through the branches whistles softly and nearby the limbs rustle as it to say let us shake off winter and wait for the long sunny days of summer. In the cleft of the old juniper he finds a cut he made long ago, when he was a young man. He stood there when he was young and swung at the tree, but it was hard to cut and he went to find another tree; a pinon that would burn better than this one so he left it to go on to see his grandchildren when they would come through here on the Chuska Mountains. The distant sky showed a small speck that went round an round way up high, a new eagle taking flight following the wind as it soared on the wind going higher and higher until it could not be seen anymore. The ground is soft, and warm as he holds it against his skin, it is the color of Navajo sandstone some way, to him it is just tle'zh, dirt but it is good to feel it and know that this is home. In the distance is the place of his birth, along the wash where old man Natani and Matana raised him in this valley, where the worn trails of sheep herders follow the clefts in the rock and washes to find a spring way down the south were a slow gentle spring of cool water marks the spot where the noon day sun would find him on many days and the sheep would graze as he watched over them. It is spring, the stiff wind blows, Woozchiid, Woozchiid.