Nicola I. Campbell

Remember the trees, the water, the land.

Every morning, Shi-shi-etko had to remind herself to be strong.

Grandfather leaned forward and whispered, 'Remember the songs of our people.'

The sun fell down behind the mountains, painting the sky with deep reds and purples.

'These are the things you must remember,' her mother said.

The river sang a song only she could hear.

'Each leaf has its own story,' her father had told her.

Shi-shi-etko collected memories like treasures.

The scent of cedar and sage filled the air.

Her grandmother’s hands were worn but strong.

'You are like the water, always moving, always changing,' her uncle said.

The wind whispered secrets through the branches.