I tried to convince my son this weekend that all sound is prayer. We were listening to birds chirping and singing on Sunday morning and he asked if I knew what kind of birds they were. I am not good with birds, I told him I wasn’t sure, but I knew they were praying. That made him wrinkle up his face, look at me like I was crazy and then shake his head; all in rapid succession.

I smiled and I asked him what the birds were singing about.

“Stuff,” he says.

“What kind of stuff?”

“I don’t know. Food, water - where to find bugs and other birds. Stuff,” he states, as if it is all just a matter of fact.

“So they are all praying then, I get it,” I say walking back in to the house.

“What are you talking about?” he asks a step behind me.

“You just told me that they were telling each other about bugs, water, where food is and other birds. Right?”

This only gets another incredulous smile out of him. I can see he is thinking that I am crazy again. He thinks that a lot.

“Listen to them. They are in a good mood, right? They are happy. The sun is shining, the skies are blue and there is plenty to eat. They are thanking the Creator for their bounty.”

With that I went back in to the house, but he stopped, turned around and looked in to the trees. I hope he was seeing this time, not just looking like he normally would.

The winds were eating away at the remaining moisture in the earth. Sunshine was brilliant and made the days seem to sparkle. The People would need to dance soon to ask for more rain, to offer more tobacco and sing throughout the night for the Cloud People to send down the rains.

In the hills the trees were talking quietly about Grandfather Wind and Grandfather Fire; in a few more days there would be fires if gentle rains did not fall before the coming storms. Lightning and thunder would bring fire to the hills if the gentle rains did not come first. The trees called out to the Cloud People, but no rains fell yet tonight.

Down in the village the People thanked Grandmother Corn for the harvest as they ate their meals. They soon sat around in the star-lit night listening to the Storyteller talk about the Grasshopper People and the Fox. Deep in the night they all went to their beds to sleep before another day on the plains.

After their morning meals some gathered sticks from the hills, thanking the trees for offering fuel for the cooking fires. Some went to the riverbeds, looking for trapped fish in the receding waters. Others went further from the village to visit with the spirits in the canyons, asking if the time was right for a Dance.

The Shaman went to the canyons, sat between the walls of the red stone and tapped a lone beat on his drum. Those few that had gone with him made a small fire, laid sage on the flames and watched the smoke rise, looking for the crows that would carry messages to the Spirit.

“Hey ya ho ya hey yo ho ya,” he sang quietly. The canyons became a funnel for his song and the trees in the hills above sang with him, asking the Cloud People to send the rains soon.

On the clouds there was another village. Above the darkness, where the sun and the moon and the stars always shone was a small village that looked very much like the village down on the grasses. The Cloud People set out each morning to tend to there chores. Collecting the wayward wisps of clouds that had broken free during the night and putting them back with the rest of the cloud. Moisture to moisture.

The chief of the Cloud People sat in his small tent, smoke rising to the sun as he listened for the singing. Faintly, on the wind he could hear a lone man, singing his songs and then with him the chief heard the trees and the grasses as well. They were thirsty.

The chief’s palms began to flow water, like fountains had sprung up from his hands, and his people began to dance.

Later that night as the shaman and his party arrived back in the village the fire was blazing and the tobacco was in the air. The Dance had begun with the setting sun and they whole village was alive with energy; asking that their brothers and sisters on the clouds would come to the this night, and visit them with rains.

The stars began to disappear one by one, clouds formed in the sky where none had been during the daylight hours and now the People could smell the coming rains.

In the hills the trees shook and rolled on the winds, ready to drink in the rains and thank Grandmother Water for her gift.

That night two peoples were joined again.