With a Hatchet and a Cigarette
Sadly, I didn't survive my first meeting with the native tribes of America. Shortly after pulling out my trusty soul-stealer, the warrior (above) reared back, knocked an arrow and introduced a new opening into my chest. You know... so that I could breath better. Good peep! Now... that's not what really happened... but it's how I like to remember it.
For those who don't know, Santa Fe is one of the richest cultural hubs in all the South-West. They have so many art galleries and museums that they've set aside an entire hill for even more museums. This is one of two towering statues at the very top of that hill. A single day spent on Museum Hill isn't enough to take in all the tribal folk art, native legends and rich heritage. But... in that same day... one can wander down from Museum Hill to the capitol and read the names of every tribe that once was... once lived and made this culture... and are now extinct.
No native blood runs in my veins... but I've been taken in by two different Apache tribes, given shelter by the Navajo and shared smoke with the Taos Pueblo tribe. I've helped them set up when the world's tribes gather in Santa Fe each August and I've been enraptured by their music. The names of those tribes that've been marked off the face of the planet as "extinct" strike in a way that stings. But the wars continue... don't they? And this is the world we're choosing.
One day, someone's gonna come gunnin' for this world...
...with a hatchet and cigarette.
