The white moon is high
There's a breeze in my hair
The night air is warm
I am without care
The spirits are carried
In the breeze on my face
The loved and cherished
Of my beautiful race
The grass rustles quietly
With its secrets to give
It whispers to tell us
Where all creatures live
And the Earth it tells stories
Of who passed this way
And where they have gone
And how far away
The stars shine so brightly
In the sky up above
And look down on our people
With patience and love
The voices drift up
From the village below
The laughing and singing
Of a hundred fine Crow
The dogs are now sleeping
And the horses they rest
For tomorrow we are put
To the ultimate test
We'll pray to our gods
And paint up our men
We'll gather our horses
And weapons and then
With the strength of the eagle
And painted we'll go
Swift over the plains
To hunt great buffalo
But for now I will sit
With my back to this tree
Safe in the knowledge
Our life is carefree
Gabi 21.5.96
For man, autumn is a time of harvest, of gathering together. For nature, it is a time of sowing, of scattering abroad.
- Edwin Way Teale
In Gulliver's Travels Jonathan Swift described the two moons of Mars, Phobos and Deimos, giving their exact size and speeds of rotation. He did this more than 100 years before either moon was discovered.
