I open the door of the Tcokofa and let a warm breeze blow the cobwebs and dust away. The Council House still smells strong of sage. I sit quietly for awhile, remembering the voices that rang out in this place, all the plans we made, and the happy times we shared.

There are many more to come. New friends. More feasts. And the harvest is coming soon.

In the cool dark of the Tcokofa, I sing a song and offer one of the precious golden feathers I found along the way with the Americas' Long Walk. The breeze lifts it, as if admiring it, and whirls it away, out the door and into the summer sunshine.

"If you find a golden feather, it means you'll never lose your way back home." (Robbie Robertson and the Red Road Ensemble, Music for the Native Americans) "When you find what's worth keeping, with a breath of kindness blow the rest away."

Ideas for August, the Ripe Berries Moon, anyone?