“Yes. There has been a passing. It was Moon Lee, wasn’t it?” She didn’t wait for my response. “This morning, as dawn’s first light kissed the sky, an unusual chill whispered through the air.”
Her words carried a reverence that painted vivid images in my mind as if I were standing beside her, witnessing the scene she described.
“The bald eagle,” she began, her voice soft and mournful, “with its wings spread wide—a blessing from the Great Spirit—rose gracefully from the east. It circled our village three times, each pass tugging at my soul a little more. And when it let out that final haunting cry, it felt as though sorrow was etched into the skies themselves.”
She paused, the weight of her words settling in the space between us before she continued. “A white buffalo calf stood alone on the hill—a sacred messenger of change, purity, and peace. A sign of the great loss our people have suffered.”
Chills crept up my spine, the room around me dissolving into the vivid imagery her words conjured. How could nature itself mourn so deeply?
“Lee was... he was much loved,” I said.
“Indeed,” Talia replied, her tone firm yet tender. “And now, I must speak with Olivia. She needs to know what must be done.”
“How did you?—”
The question faltered on my lips. Of course, they knew of Olivia through Lee.
“Lee spoke of you both,” Talia explained. “You were no secret to us. Now, I must speak to your beautiful wife.”
“I, uh… the thing I’m speaking on is affixed to the wall,” I said, fumbling over the words. “She’s in the shed.”
Talia laughed softly. “This is all new to you. You are from a different era.”
“Yes,” I admitted, my ears burning with embarrassment. “I’m not familiar with these devices.”
“Well,” she said patiently, “set the handset on the desk. Please do not put it back on the phone, or we’ll be disconnected. Go get Olivia, and I’ll wait here.”
Relieved by her calm guidance, I placed the handset carefully on the desk and hurried to the shed. “Talia Redfeather wants to speak with you,” I called to Olivia.
She followed me back into the house, her hands trembling as she pressed a small button labeled “Speaker.”
“Hello?” she said, her voice wavering slightly as it carried into the air.
Talia’s voice filled the room, melodic and grounding, as though it danced with an unseen rhythm. We leaned in, hanging on every word, as she explained what needed to be done. “Take Lee to Paha Sapa,” Talia instructed, her tone steady and reverent. “His shed—his favorite place. “Find his writings—his poems and thoughts,” she continued. “Read them to him until we arrive.”
“I will,” Olivia said, though her voice quivered with hesitation. “But… we have children. They might interrupt us.”
“A few teens from the tribe will accompany us,” Talia reassured. “They will look after the children until the ceremony ends. You don’t need to worry.”
With those arrangements settled, we began our vigil—a time of preparation and remembrance. Together, we jotted down the prayers Talia recited over the line. It was a final act of devotion, a last gift for a man who had been more than a friend, more than a mentor—he had bridged worlds, if only for a fleeting moment. Then, we returned to the shed.
Olivia’s hand brushed against mine as she took the paper. Her voice was soft, trembling like a leaf caught in the wind, as she read the prayer aloud.
“Grandfather Great Spirit, all over the world, the faces of living things are alike. With tenderness, they have come up out of the ground. Look upon your children with children in their arms, that they may face the winds and walk the good road to the quiet day.”
Once a place of creation and dreams, the shed now held Lee’s silent form like a sacred sanctuary. The thin veil between worlds seemed to quiver with each word, the air thick with reverence and loss.
“Teach them to walk the soft earth as relatives to all that live,” Olivia read, her voice catching as tears welled in her eyes.
I knelt beside Lee, tracing the lines of his weathered hands—hands that had shaped so much and taught and guided. My voice cracked as I whispered, “May you find peace in the Great Spirit’s arms.” The rest of Talia’s prayer stayed lodged in my throat, unspoken yet deeply felt.
Olivia leaned closer, her breath mingling with mine, bringing a fragile warmth to the shed’s cool air. We sat together in silence, the prayer weaving around us like an invisible shroud, offering solace in the depth of our sorrow.
The soft cadence of Olivia’s voice filled the stillness as she continued reading from the prayer. Each syllable was like a brushstroke, painting a vision of serenity—a place untouched by the grief that weighed so heavily upon us.
In the silence that followed, it felt as though Lee’s spirit stirred, preparing to embark on its final journey. The air vibrated faintly, charged with the energy of his unspoken dreams and unfinished stories. I closed my eyes, granting myself a moment to escape the cruel certainty of death.
“May your journey be swift and your spirit soar,” I whispered. Behind my closed lids, I imagined Lee’s essence rising, weightless as the eagle’s feathers that had circled overhead, ascending into an endless expanse of sky.
