Crow Feather

A light snow was drifting in the cold air dusting the rocks and fallen leaves of the pristine mountains. Crow Feather was riding bareback on his horse gripping it's braided mane enjoying the view from atop his mighty stallion. As the snow silently fell on the forest ahead it appeared to be in slow motion. Each time the horse exhaled, steam swirled from his nostrils in the frigid air. Looking down, Crow Feather could see the turkey tracks ahead. Stalking his prey, Crow Feather slowed the horse to a walk so as not to startle the wild bird ahead. He adjusted his quiver so an arrow would be handy when the turkey was in range.

Crow Feather had ridden this ridge line many times. It was called Bee Tree ridge by the creek indians. Many tall oaks arose on the ridge providing an abundance of acorns. Huge boulders provided shelter and cover for hunting. He had hunted here before with his father and his grandfather. It was a peaceful place where deer and black bear roamed and the creek indians hunted. A squirrel began barking at Crow Feather from its perch on a limb high in a oak tree. He stopped his horse to frown at the noisy squirrel and shake his bow at him. The squirrel quickly became motionless and silent as it realized danger was below. The squirrel was lucky, he was not the prey today.

Digging a heel of his moccasin boots in the ribs of the horse they once again began slowly moving along. The forest was calm and quite except for the hooves of the horse striking the ground. The morning sun lit the forest in brillant white light creating long shadows of the trees. The turkey tracks were not easy to follow in the mix of light and shadow. Crow Feather hoped the hunt would be a success since winter had arrived.

Crossing by cowrock mountain, a cold clear stream ran across the rocks and then made a waterfall as it plummeted downward into the boulders far below. Crow Feather stopped his horse so it could enjoy a drink. He slid from his mount and onto the rocks. He liked this spot. He always stopped here as he passed thru. The frigid water of the stream flowed out of the mountain and pooled slowly at the edge of the rock before making the plunge downward. This pool ran slow and produced a vivid reflection of anything peering into it.

Crow Feather liked to look into the water and see his reflection. It was the only way for Crow Feather to know how he looked. As he gazed into his own eyes, another indian was looking back at him. He noticed a long ponytail that had turned partially grey. A face that now had some wrinkles. A deerskin shirt. A bead and bone choker. A single crow feather headdress. He was beginning to look different from how he remembered his last visit here. He briefly thought about him growing old but decided his spirit was still young and that was all that mattered.

Cupping his hands, Crow Feather took a drink of the water. It was almost frozen it was so cold. It made him shudder as the cold went down to his stomach. The horse paid no attention to the cold and enjoyed the icy drink. Crow Feather stood up and walked to edge of the rocks where the water slipped over the edge. The sound of the waterfall muffled all other sounds and kept it's steady churning. From his rock he could see mountains far away he had never been. Maybe someday he would visit them. He just stood there for a while finding it difficult to leave this magical place. Crow Feather was glad he had discovered this place. He hoped to once again return.

The sound of a turkey gobble in the distance drew his attention. With one quick motion he lept upon the back of the stallion and rode toward the sound. Crow Feather continued on away from the stream until he disappeared back into the forest. The stream continued to run across the rocks awaiting its next visitor to reflect upon.