Friday, April 23, 2010

indian in the garden

She sits on the southern edge of my patio.

Next to the stump of a native tree -- long since sent to join its woody ancestors.

She is an Indian.  There can be no doubt about that.

When I first met her, I thought she was an Arctic Indian.  Somehow mixing in with the name of the house -- Casa Nanaimo.

Of course, Nanaimo is not in the Arctic.  But it is closer than Melaque.

But I may have been wrong.  What I took for a parka is most likely a rebozo -- that all purpose piece of fabric preferred by utilitarian Mexicanas.

The mistake is understandable.  Even though the land bridge migration theory has come under anthropological assault, whether she is Inuit or Náhuatl, she springs from a common blood line.


She has never corrected my error.

Because she has not said a word to me in the six months I lived in the house.

She just sits.  And stares.

Teaching me there is wisdom in silence.  In waiting for wisdom.


Alan said...

What a difficult piece of wisdom for an attorney to learn! We make money with words, therefore the more we speak/write the more learned we think we are. So wrong.

Calypso said...

She appears to be quite content - probably retired ;-)

1st Mate said...

Looks to me like she's meditating. Shhhh.

Anonymous said...

Silence is not always wisdom. It often is foolishness not yet discovered.


Laurie said...

She's in need of a bleach rinse, around the neck.

Steve Cotton said...

Alan -- As always, right on the head.

Calypso -- Whatever type of Indian she is, she would have had a long trip. She deserves to be retired.

1st Mate -- Probabaly wondering when she will get a better view.

Laurie -- She could do with a make over.