Inspired by a picture that I purchased from a secondhand shop in 1998

All around, the camp is alive
with the smells and sounds of the day,
fry bread, buffalo meat hanging to dry,
skins tanning,
and the little Indian girl
walks through, content.
Her jet black hair,
braided,
adorned with beads and feathers;
soft moccasins on her feet,
and tanned fringed tunic
down to golden brown limbs.
The storyteller beckons with one finger,
and she sits at his feet,
eagerly awaiting his ancient wisdom
in the tales he weaves.
The young men are out hunting,
some of the women bring water from the river,
others make trinkets to trade with the White Man.
Under the prairie sun,
the day is good,
and the little Indian girl
holds these things dear.
Tired,
she makes her way back to her tepee,
and curls on her blanket,
drifting into soft dreams of happy things
ready for the morrow,
when the circle begins again.