Morning, from Little Herder in Spring

MORNING
This morning, when I crawled from under my blanket, when I stood before my mother’s hogan door outside looked as if it had been crying. The sky was hanging heavy with gray tears.

I stood at the door of my mother’s hogan and looked out at the gray, sad morning. My father came. He stood beside us. He spoke in o happy way and to my mother.

Then the gray tears on the sky’s face melted. The clouds pushed away and the sun smiled through them.

Now it is gray again, but I cannot forget that when my father spoke the sun came and looked down upon us.