The Changing Wind by Don Coldsmith Page A

Elk.”
    There was little time to wonder. Now that the decision had been made, White Buffalo was anxious to proceed with his son’s education. Elk was only too willing. The sooner he began, the sooner he and Crow Woman could establish their own lodge. However, he had not counted on the immense quantity of information that his father was eager to give him.
    It was nearing the Moon of Ripening, when all things that grow are completing the year’s cycle and preparing for the winter’s sleep. It would be a while before that process would be completed. But already, the bluish stems of the big grasses were pushing upward, sometimes taller than a large man before the seedheads opened.
    In the giant oaks along the streams and in the canyons,busy squirrels hurried to gather and store acorns. Sometime soon, the restless herds of buffalo would be migrating, drifting south for the winter. It would be a time for the People to hunt, to store as much food as possible for the winter. It was the responsibility of White Buffalo, possessor of the buffalo medicine, to predict their arrival. He would also assist with the plans for the hunt, sometimes using his calfskin cape to mingle with the herd and gently maneuver them to an area favorable to the hunters.
    “But how do you tell when the buffalo will come?” asked Small Elk.
    “Patience!” White Buffalo said impatiently. “You have much to learn before that.”
    They walked the prairie together. White Buffalo sniffed the air, seeming to study the maturing grasses, the stage of development of the nuts and acorns along the timbered streams, the profusion of golden flowers of different types.
    “At this moon, most of the flowers are yellow or purple,” he pointed out.
    “Why, Father?”
    “To tell that it is the Moon of Ripening!” White Buffalo said.
    Small Elk wanted to ask about the buffalo but sensed that it would not be advisable.
    “Now, at about this season,” his father was saying, “there will come a change in the weather. Rain Maker has been resting, and the land becomes hot and dry. Then comes the change, and that tells the buffalo to move. One day we notice that the prairie smells different,
feels
different. We must be able to tell, just a little while before it happens.”
    Elk started to ask why, but realized his own answer. The holy man must be ready to tell the others, so that they could be ready for the hunt.
    “There are many things to watch for,” White Buffalo explained. “Hear how the insects in the trees sing at evening? It is their time.”
    Small Elk remained quiet, sensing that more was coming.
    “The change sometimes comes with rain, sometimes not. The summer wind is from the south. When it begins to change—but look! There is a sign!”
    He pointed across a little meadow. Elk saw nothing except some swallows, apparently from nests in a nearbycliff. The birds were swooping low, crisscrossing the meadow, darting after an occasional insect.
    “But, I—” Elk began, but his father held up a hand.
    “When birds fly low, the weather is about to change. Rain, maybe.”
    “Why, Father?”
    “Aiee
, Elk, you have asked such things since you were small! Maybe they are hunting insects, and
they
fly low. Yes,
‘why?’
I suppose. There is a difference in the air… do you not feel it?”
    Elk nodded. It was something that could not be described, but it was there. A different
spirit
The wind, which had been blowing steadily from the south for many days, was now quiet. The air was still and heavy.
    “The South Wind,” said White Buffalo. “It is resting. A change is coming.”
    Strange, thought Small Elk. This had been happening each autumn since he was born. No, since Creation maybe. He had never noticed before—well, that the wind usually came from the south. That was a recognized fact and gave the area one of its names. There was even a tribe who called themselves South Wind People. Small Elk had noticed that the wind sometimes changed and that the