He says he is ready to go to the Sing and we are ready, too.
Not long after the sun has finished with the day we will get there.
We will get to the hogan of the wife of Tall-Man's brother.
We will be at the Sing, the Sing, the Sing.
The ruts in the road are deep and frozen.
The wheels of the wagon have a song of their own.
I sit in the back of the wagon in a nest made of blankets.
I listen to the song of the rolling wagon wheels.
Straight and tall my mother sits on the wagon seat beside my father.
Warmth is gone from the sands, from the red rocks, from the canyons.
On the trail of the Holy Songs we go to hear the voices of the Gods.
It will be a long time before the night sky bends down and the stars hang low and the supper fires of the camping people dot the night.
Our wagon comes within the circles of supper fires, comes within the circle of firelight, and I see all the People who have come to the Sing.
It makes me happy to see all of the People walking around and standing and sitting.
It makes me happy to see all the colors that there are in the skirts of the women in the shirts of the men and in the blankets that all the People wear.
I can see a race horse that belongs to a man my uncle knows.
After the Sing is over, the men will race their horses.
And then perhaps he will win a better concho belt than the one he has in pawn to the Trader.
There is a new hogan built just for the Sing.
There are some shelters built just for the Sing, and at one side is the Cook Shade where all kinds of foods are cooking.
I think it is good to be happy when food is near.
As it gets darker more fires are lighted and within the circle a big one burns.
Smoke gets in my eyes and I can taste it in my mouth.
In the folds of my mother's blanket, in the warmth of my mother's blanket, in the quiet of my mother's blanket, close to her heart I sleep and awaken to hear the Gods, the Singers of Songs.
We go, we go, to hear the voices of the Gods.
They say, on the path of the rainbow, they say, on the bridge of the lightening, they say on the trail of pollen went the Elder Brother, Reared-in-the-Mountains, Young Man, Chief.
Look! Look! they say, they say, the Gods are walking.
Look! Look! they say, they say, the Gods are dancing.