30/07/2025
Long ago, when the stars still remembered the first songs, there was a little boy who loved to sit by the fire. Each night, he would watch the flames dance and wonder if they carried secrets meant only for him.
One evening, as the tipi glowed with the breath of the fire, his grandfather sat beside him. The boy looked up with wide eyes.
“Grandfather,” he whispered, “why do the flames never grow tired of dancing?”
The old man smiled, his face lined like the bark of an old cedar tree.
“Because, nôsisim — my grandchild — the fire is alive. It dances because it listens. Every crackle, every spark you hear, is the fire answering our prayers.”
The boy tilted his head, listening closely. The flames snapped softly, as if in agreement.
Grandfather leaned closer, lowering his voice like a secret.
“When you speak from your heart, the fire carries your words to the stars. That is why we sit with it, not just for warmth, but for guidance. It teaches us patience, respect, and the courage to keep glowing, even when the night is dark.”
The child’s eyes shone. “Can I tell the fire something, Grandfather?”
“Yes,” the Elder said, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “But remember — speak truth, speak kindness, and speak with gratitude. The fire carries only what is good.”
So the boy closed his eyes, his small hands resting in his lap. He whispered a thank you — for the warmth, for his family, for the stars that watched from above. When he opened his eyes again, the flames leapt higher, as though they had heard him.
Grandfather nodded.
“See, nôsisim? The fire knows your heart. And one day, when you are older, you will sit by the fire with a child of your own. You will pass on its wisdom, just as I pass it to you tonight.”
The boy leaned against his grandfather, the fire’s glow wrapping them both like a blanket. And from that night on, he never saw the flames as just fire again. They were friends. They were teachers. They were keepers of stories.
—Kanipawit Maskwa
John Gonzalez
Standing Bear Network
