the eastern woodlands, a long time ago...

the night is very cold.

but i sit outdoors, a few steps away from the cosy warmth, the crackling fire of the longhouse.

i sit, wrapped in my furs, looking up at the night sky; it is as black as the fur coat of a new-born mountain bear. there is no moon tonight and there is a hint of winter in the air. a gust of icy cold wind rustles my hair but the deep black sky above me is lit up by many many stars.

i try to imagine the shapes formed by the stars; the old ones say that the stars form the shapes of animal spirits of the woodlands - the wise eagle with it's nest of little ones, a pair of salmon leaping clear out of the gushing waters of the brook, the lone wolf, herds of caribou, the grinning bobcat. but all i see is sparkling dust sprinkled on the deepest black one can imagine.

my eyes sweep down and i see a tiny wisp of smoke wafting up from a dense clump of pine trees in the distance. in the faint glow cast by the starlight, i can just about make out the silhouetted shapes of the pines.

far away, i hear the howling of wolves. they sound like they are mourning for the moon. and i can also hear the faint sound of a steady beating drum. it seems to come from so far away that i feel it rather than hear it; enough to lull me to sleep.

and just before i fall asleep, i realize, for the first time in life, that true heaven is a place on earth. it is where you feel at home, at peace with the world and yourself.