Father Sky promised rain. His promises were empty like the clouds that moved across Him. Rain was but a fading memory and a dim hope. Winter babies, soon to walk, had never felt the rain. It was only a story told by the elders when the small ones could not sleep.
The People had gathered to water when the rains no longer came. This was not their always home. In a vision, a wise woman was shown this valley. By the signs, she led them here.
The valley, invisible from any distance, was nestled at the base of a stony hill. The other three sides gently sloped into the hidden valley fed by three springs. The trees on all four sides stood guarding the secret they had sheltered for untold years. In the shallow bowl of the valley the green grasses waved and animals came to feed and drink.
Mother Earth had brought them here, if not to prosper, at least to survive. They gave thanks to the spirits of the animals that fed them. Careful to use only what they needed, plants were left to resupply. Mother Earth cared for them. They honored Her with respect.
The People stayed.
They played. They hunted.
They fished. They laughed.
They lived.
And the rains came and Mother Earth smiled.
