The crow gathered pebbles, one by one, and dropped them into the pitcher until the water rose to the top.
The snow is falling and it reminds me that Winter is a time for telling stories. In some traditions, stories are only told in the period between the first snow and the last snow of the season.
During the Spring, Summer and early Fall, communities were busy hunting and growing food so there was little opportunity for storytelling. In the winter when thedays were shorter and the ground was frozen with ice and snow, people stayed inside to keep warm. The gathering of family encouraged the sharing of stories. Stories entertained, shared traditions and taught morals.
Traditional stories also had a lot of animals in them. It was respectful to tell animal stories when the animals weren’t around to hear them.
There were Sacred stories too. The sacredness of each tribe was embodied in their stories and these stories could only be shared by tribal members. The sacredness of all cultures and their stories should be respected. What are your sacred stories?
A thought for Your Day:
“Stories have to be told or
they die, and when they die, we can't remember who we are or why we're here.”
― Sue Monk Kidd,
The Secret Life of Bees
We were three brothers; two of us were silly, and neither of us had a bit of sense. We went to the bow-maker’s and bought three bows, two of which were broken, and the third had no string.
In a stream without a drop of water swam three ducks, two of which were dead, while the third hadn’t a spark of life. We shot one with an arrow, and taking it in our hand, set off up hill and down dale, drinking coffee and smoking tobacco, gathering tulips and hyacinths, until we had travelled the length of a barleycorn.
On and on we went, until we came to three houses, two of which were in ruins, while the third had no foundation. There lay three men, two dead and one without life. We asked the dead men to give us a vessel to cook our duck in. They showed us tree cupboards, two of which were broken and the third had no sides.
In them we found three plates, two full of holes and the third without bottom. In the plate without bottom we cooked the duck.
One of us said, “I have eaten sufficient,” the other , “I’ve no appetite,” and I said, “No more, thank you.”
He who said he had eaten sufficient ate up the whole duck, he who said he had no appetite ate up the bones, at which I became angry and ran away to a melon field.
Taking my knife from my girdle I cut a melon. Where my knife was, there was I. Meeting a caravan, I asked where my knife was. They answered me: “For forty years we have been looking for twelve camels we have lost. As we have not been able to find them, how you think we could find your knife?”
At this I went away in anger and came to a tree. Close by was a basket in which some one had put a murdered man. As I looked at him I saw forty thieves approaching, so I took to my heels, they after me. Running till I was out of breath I reached an old tumble- down drama, in the court of which I sat down to rest. The thieves followed and chased me round and round the court, until in my despair I sought to escape them by climbing to the pinnacle of the
minaret. One of the thieves drew his knife and came at me, when with a lough shriek I looked my hold and fell to earth.
I mortal terror I suddenly opened my eyes — to discover that I had been dreaming.