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Stewart Brian Nokohoot
B. 1967 Whitebear First Nations Reserve / D. 12.20.00 Regina, Canada
Froze to Death

And the sight of the pretty lizards, puffing their crimson pouches in the sun, or undulating athwart epitaphs, and shifting their color when approached, from emerald to ashen gray; the caravans of the ants, journeying to and from tiny chinks in the masonry; the bees gathering honey from the crimson blossoms of the crete-de-coq, whose radicles sought sustenance, perhaps from human dust, in the decay of generations: all that rich life of grave summoned up fancies of Resurrection, Nature's resurrection-work—wondrous transformations of flesh, marvelous transmigrations of souls! . . .From some forgotten crevice of that tomb roof, which alone intervened between her and the vast light, a sturdy weed was growing. He knew that plant, as it quivered against the blue—the chou-gras, as Creole children call it: its dark berries form the mocking-bird's favorite food. . .Might not its roots, exploring darkness, have found some unfamiliar nutriment within?—might it not be that something of the dead heart had risen to purple and emerald life—in the sap of translucent leaves, in the wine of the savage berries—to blend with the blood of the Wizard Singer—to lend a strange sweetness to the melody of his wooing?

Consolation Site: Too late

Special Guest Contributor Robert Mackie; Quotation from Chita: A Memory of Last Island, by Lafcadio Hearn (1889)

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