Two young men, wrapped warmly in fur hides
of buffalo, slip quietly from their ponies and
sit in the damp prairie grass. The night sky
twinkles with pinpoints of starlight. But it
is not stars they seek in the black sky. They
have never seen the Blood Moon before.
In fact, it was a story they learned as children
but they never considered it truth. The Elders
made up a tale about the red moon that climbs
into the sky so infrequently.
But tonight they stare curiously at the very thing
the tribal Elders described, a red ball suspended
above them, red like blood from the buffalo hunt.
Neither young warrior speaks. No words
form to describe the sinister spot of blood
in the sky. A sign? An omen? Darkness
around them deepens as the last faint traces
of moonlight disappear. All that remains
is the unexplainable red circle set in the
blackness.
They sit for almost an hour in the presence
of the blood sign. Then, without a word spoken,
they rise, leap to the backs of their ponies,
lithe dancers in graceful motion. Still looking
at the ominous blood light, they ride swiftly
to the camp, outrunning crimson droplets
that fall from the sky\'s wound.