“It was upon the Full Beaver Moon. The spirits convened. It was the North wind they called. His creature. His law. Soft winds from other points came first. They danced. Their fingers reaching into the fire. Slowly pulling out long past memories from the embers of the glowing wood. The sparks tell of the great beaver that decimated the forest.” Joseph looks about his nephews.
Their young faces listening because they are without phone reception. The downed tree means little to them. Their uncle sees it as a monument. It is magically. Not alive as the tree but the actual mythical beast.
“The spirit never leaves. The Great Spirit sees to that. The land cried at the loss of the forest. Deer and elk long left. The black bear followed. Eagles and Hawks cried at their nests taken. The Beaver built a great house. Ten times what our people have. He hoarded the water. He fell every tree. Day and night he chews. He drags his wooden treasure. Stacked high.The animals called the spirits. The spirits came here. They cried for the mighty loss. The North wind came down. He stands canyon wall tall. He lifted to the top from the beaver’s home.” Joseph stops to collect his nephews attention.
“The Beaver, much like you. He sees not the problem caused but his gain. The North wind asked why every tree. The Beaver said you put them there for me. The North wind responded by making him the tree. The forest and animals, now safe, slowly returns.” Joseph spreads his hands wide.
“Can we go get something to eat now?” Greg looks up from his baseball cap. His patience long carried down stream.