Cradle — Nomlaki

It was comforting to be bound and cared for, to be carried to the lake, mountains, and always home. But as a baby I was restless and began to crawl before my mother untied the basket from my back. Already I knew the sounds and rhythms, I had seen the dances, had heard the stories of the lives that were woven with my own like the grasses and straps of my basket.