Entering Onondaga

The old man
must have stopped our car
two dozen times to climb out
and gather into his hands
the small toads blinded
by our lights and leaping
live drops of rain

The rain was falling
a mist about his white hair
and I kept saying
you can't save them all,
accept it, get back in
we've got places to go

But, leathery hands full
of wet brown life,
knee deep in the summer
roadside grass,
he just smiled and said
"they have places to go to
too"
- Joseph Bruchac

Today I visited three elderly brothers who had dug an occupation site in the late 1940s-early 1950s. Among the things they had was a burial and associated goods. We talked for over five hours about the need to return these to the earth. They are giving it consideration.