I come from the banks of the Brokenhead River- where the water washes over your skin like silky medicine. The air smells of sweetgrass, and frogs croak in damp ditches.
Big fluffy bumblebees pollinate the red clovers, and you can weave crowns from the daisies and black eyed suzies and place them upon your river washed hair. Grandfather Turtle sunbathes on a big flat rock- he is hundreds of years old. The beavers build their dams along the shore and the fireflies light up the night like a thousand tiny faeries. The stars in the night sky are so bright you can see where Skywoman once emerged. If you are quiet, calm, and still, Eagle will fly out to you for the morning sunrise to say hello. This is where I call home. I come from the banks of the Brokenhead River.
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