She would say “Nida!”(Sit Down).
Her eyes melted into pools of chocolate
As her voice softened like butter.
Then she would begin:
“Nik’adąą,” (Some time ago)
Our eyes followed her gesture.
Her hands shaped a rainbow
And led us back to the past:
“When I was small,
Just a child around your age.
I would herd sheep, sometimes by myself
But mostly with your zhe’eh yaazhi (uncle), Lee.”
I would turn in my spot as if to see said Uncle was behind me.
She continued,
“We would take the sand rocks and shape them into toys.”
“Toys?”
“You know. Like cars, chairs, people, and tables.
And we would just play with these toys as the sheep ate.”
Her lips curved into a smile.
I felt a tug at my heart. My mom missed those days.
“Sometimes we would get caught up in playing
And the sheep would run off on us…”
She paused.
“We ran after them. Yelling at them to stop.
We would scream ‘Dibe!’ and ‘Heeeey!’
They would just keep walking like they didn’t hear us.
The dogs ran ahead as they barked at the sheep.
We kept running.
We forgot our toys.”
A laugh escaped me as I pictured it.
My mom, my uncle.
Two native kids in jeans and 70’s shirts
Running after the clouds of wool and hooves
With arms frantically waving in the air.
All the while trying not to step in the hiding cactus.
My mom’s eyes thinned to a slit
As she cracked up with me.
“We ran cause we didn’t want to get in trouble you know?”
I nodded, with hiccups of laughter.
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