“This is a song the Papago Indians like to sing when they go traveling around somewhere: They have gone, The birds of the sky. They have gone, The animals of the earth, They have returned Along their own trail. On a white rock under the Moon, On a red rock under the Sun, On a black rock they sat, On a yellow rock they rested And looked back and saw butterflies, They looked behind them and saw A whirlwind, And they watched the whirlwind And it was a tree Standing in a cool shadow. They sit under the tree in the shadow, They sit under the still tree. (page 68, The Great Wheat Harvest)”
Book:A Pima Remembers