Black Kettle: Powwow lifts spirit, and mends scars from the past
Page 13
You see her at the powwow, sitting. Her hands are folded gently in her lap, her buckskin dress carefully smoothed. It glistens with the soft green and blue beads that have been carefully stitched across the hem and the yoke. Her eyes are bright and they sparkle as she watches every step and sway of the young girls performing the intricate fancy dance.
With a nod, a gesture and a smile she sparks all those old memories of favorite aunties and grandmothers. She smiles and it lights up the heart.