He knew nothing about me. We had only talked briefly on the phone.
“Yes,” I told him, “Arms crossed. Facing east. Thank you, I understand. Here’s the number. I’ll get back with the arrangements.”
We met formally in the afternoon a few weeks later.
The Ute Elder asked, “Do the plants talk to you, Little One?” His voice was soft. But it demanded an answer.
I looked downward, averting my eyes partially in respect, but much more in discomfort at his question. I replied sadly, “No, they don’t.”
As I slowly looked back up, his eyes cut me like a shards of glass.
“Perhaps you need to listen more closely, Little One.”
Yes, perhaps I do…