Our paths crossing is not a mistake. Though our Grandmothers could not know which flowers we would pick or which stones would make us stumble, our Creator surely did. Creator knew of the tree that would provide shade and the lake that would wet hair. Creator knew of the dog that would lick our face. I am young and do not know many things, but this I know--our paths crossing is not a mistake. It took many wars and much bloodshed so that we might meet. Our Grandmothers and their Grandmothers bore much pain, shed many tears, and called out to their children in the forest many times so that our paths might cross. Our Grandfathers walked many miles, so many miles. They prayed and they dreamed so that we might meet. The turkeys called in the spring, and the crows danced on the fall winds so that we might speak. The people pushed on, even though they were cold and hungry, so that we might be together. They knew not who we were, yet they moved forward for our benefit. And the little people did their jobs well. They placed the sticks and stones and feathers where they were supposed to so that we might pick them up, so that we might think and pray and dream. And so now, after many years and many Grandmother and many wars, we meet. And you ask, "Who are you?" I am your sister. The one that you Granmothers died for and for whom may wars were fought. I am the one that was led to you by so many sticks, stones, and feathers. I am the one who will walk and cry and pray and fight so that they might meet. And still you ask, "Who are you? You are a stranger to me." I am the one who was born and raised and brought up by my parents so that our paths might cross. I am the one who learned to fish and hunt and who cried at my brother's burial so that we might speak. But still you do not recognize me. Perhaps I am wrong. Perhaps they were wrong. Perhaps we should not smile or say hello while passing. Perhaps all those wars and prayers and dreams and tears were not so that we might meet. But my Grandparents spoke of you and they were honorable people. They would not waste all of those wars and prayers and dreams and tears if we were not meant to meet. They did not know which flowers we would pick or which stones would make us stumble, but they knew that our paths would cross. I am young and do not know many things but this I know-- our paths crossing is not a mistake. The stones do not always recognize the water rushing over them, but they know that it is not a mistake. Our paths have crossed for a reason, a reason Creator knows of. We must now find our why, and in doing so, ensure that their paths will also cross. This I know.

Gawani, Horse Follow Closely