Little Feather

                               
                                      Little Feather

     
          Little Feather is deep in prayer as she presses her lips upon her flute.
        She ponders the life force and the Great Spirit in the Sky. "How does
        the mother except the ungreatfull child?" she ponders. Suddenly, the
        flute speaks to her, "It is the desire to be loved and to be beloved."
        "The manifestations of these feelings are felt in my throat, chest,
        belly and clutch between my thighs. The turning of the tide pulls
        open your secrets." she replied as the flute poured out its melody.
          She had straddled a fallen oak that fell across a stream; that flowed
        from a forgotten cave at the base of rocky mountain... The tips of
        her toes strike the water, "The greateness of this sacred tree is
        in the exquisite fruit it bares. It drinks only from the clearest springs."
        She plays her flute gently as the owl snatches a river snake.




      Joy is feather light, but who can carry it?



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