Imagine that by the time this story jangled down to me

It had passed through multiple variations and generations

I picked out a few choice morsels of ridges and hill tops

To paint on a piece of of plywood

To satisfy my hunger pangs 

For the spirits of the rocky plains

Through the foggy windshield 

This is is what I could see

Of a Blackfeet myth and dream

About a meeting with 

The Lord of the Northern Skies

There was roaring drumbeat of hooves

Dust and a stampede

And bison jettisoned over cliffs to embrace the earth mama

A band of natives

With ground and scraped hatchets and knives

Taking the scene apart

Slivers along the skin and fascia sheath

Slits across the lines of tendons

Pops and cracks next to the rounded cartilage

Lathering in the puddling blood

Done well

There was enough goodness here

To last through the winter

All in all

It was a lot of carcasses

To process

The sky fell then rose again

Stars unveiled their brilliant finery

Several times

Still folks were at it

Slicing the animals apart

Chatting and laughing

Re living the hunt

Chewing bits of livers and loins

Reassembling it into food and clothing

It was late now

Without much warning

The winds with the pointed daggers descended

And a swirling snow storm blinded and smothered the band

No time to run

Nowhere to go

Stay put

A father and son sought shelter beneath a still warm bison hide

Praying for safety and protection

Under the makeshift shelter

The stored heat slowly faded

Liquid congealed into sticky curds and cold pastes

Frosty air snuck in the uneven folds

Chilling nose and fingers 

Hardening wet skins and toes

Tightening that cavity round the ribs and chest

Death seemed imminent

Consciousness swirled and began to drown in white powder

The father and son

Belonged to the otter clan

In their final dizzying bewildered moments

Their minds flashed fish scales and clear rivers 

Crayfish tucked in hideouts along the banks

And rainbow droplets jumping off the falls

White out 

Black out 

Fade out

When they awoke

Wasn’t sure 

if it had all been a dream

The herd of bison, the slaughter, the butchering

Or, if they had parted ways with their nerves muscles brains and bones

And had arrived in the world above the sky

Before them was a gold lit teepee 

With thunderbird feet and talons

The teepee’s skirt was icy pokers

And stars circled in the upper canopies

Right above the entrance

Was a grand and ancient red bison head

With yellow horns that had clobbered many a foe

Its tail in the back 

Swished taut against 

The disc rays of the sun

Crow feathered bells

Chimed for the day of reckoning

The otter pair hollered greetings

And decided to go inside

Have a look

A blazing fire rang within

Heat rose up and danced in flickers

As blackening wood shed ash flakes

Around the beguiled hearth

The black shadows were full of chatter 

Caw caw caw 

Ha ha ha

Caw caw

Hee haw hee haw

The bells were deafening  

The Lord of the Northern Sky rose up from his smoke

He was dressed with garments of snow

On his breast he wore a tobacco pouch of mink

And otter pelts patterned his belt

In his right hand was branches of juniper 

Ready to sacrifice themselves to the flames

In his left hand the black pipe was praying to the clouds

The Lord welcomed the hunters

Bade them to sit down

Make themselves comfortable

And relax a spell

While the storm paused to have a bowl of stew

And the drifts sashayed and settled into 

A comforter for the earth mother

Otter man and his son

Were surprised 

Elated

Joyful

Shocked

Awed

In summary

Cut up and swollen beyond recognition

By everything they had encountered 

They quickly pulled up an offering

A six pound bison heart

A little bit on the cool side

But still beating with a very distant thumpity bump

The Lord of the Northern Skies

Received the gift with gratitude

And began to sing of pain and sorrow

And of tears fears and years

With that

There was a thunderous clapping flash o lightning

The explosion crept up slowly in the back of the throat

Ran zig zag kazam down the esophagus

Billowed chunks out of the lungs

And heaved the stomach into a galactic sized churning tsunami

And by the time the intestines were involved

It was all light and shock

Dust and faded memories 

And Father Otter and his son

Were back on the plains

With the family

Sharpening edges and points

Plunging into flesh

Carving the soft parts away from the hard

And hanging meat to dry 

In the mid day sun