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 The wind spoke to my mother, but she did not fear. It said, "your three little birds I'm going to take, but do not worry, they will come back to you. Pain they will endure but return intelligent. Like the Yellowhammer, who on the West side experienced death and once again, life. They'll come back capable and brave. As the Blue Jay who in the North met a Rainhawk, wrestled in their youth, crying, laughing, and finally, growing. As the Mountain Grouse, who in the South, wariness and uncertainty gave way to a beautiful little one who had to be taught love and honesty." The winds said, "I will also teach them to fly. My breeze will lift them high, but you'll have to be there when I stop, they might fall. As the sun rises in the East every morning I will blow again with a promise of tomorrow. This time bringing an air of dignity to each individual feather. This will help them to wake and be proud, to sleep and be peaceful, to live and survive."

The wind spoke to my mother, but she did not fear.

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