In my song, I appealed to the wolf to come
and preside over us while I would perform
the wolf ceremony so that the bondage
between my grandson and the wolf would be
lifelong.

Again I sang, humbly, but as invitingly
as I could, until my throat ached and my
voice gave out.

All of a sudden I realized why no wolves
had heard my sacred song. There were
none left.

I sang.

In my cupped hands lay a spruce seed,
the link to creation.

I sang.

In my eyes sparkled love.

I sang.

And the song floated on the sun's rays
from tree to tree.

When I had ended, it was if the whole
world listened with us to hear the
wolf's reply. We waited a long time,
but none came.

I sang.

In my voice was the hope that clings to
every heartbeat I sang. In my words
were the powers I inherited from my
forefathers.

       My heart filled with tears. I could
no longer give my grandson faith in the
past, our past. At last I could whisper
to him: "It is finished"

"Can I go home now?" he asked, checking
his watch to see if he would still be
in time to catch his favorite program
on TV.

         I watched him disappear and wept
in silence.

All is finished!