There are many wonderful
Native American stories from around the country. It is hoped you
enjoy these. If you wish to share one please e-mail it. It is
hoped you enjoy the stories |
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Grandmother Spider Steals
The Sun
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| In the
beginning there was only blackness, and nobody could see
anything. People kept bumping into each other and groping
blindly. They said: " What this world needs is light." |
| Fox said
he knew some people on the other side of the world who had
plenty of fight, but they were to greedy to share it would
others. Possum said he would be glad to steal a little of it.
" I have a bushy tail, " he said. " I can hide
the light inside all that fur. " Then he set out for the
other side of the world. There he found the sun hanging in a
tree and lighting everything up. He sneaked over to the sun,
picked out a tiny piece of light, and stuffed it into his tail.
But the light was hot and burned all the fur off. The people
discovered his theft and took back the light, and ever since,
Possum's tail have been bald. |
| Let me
try, " said Buzzard. " I know better than to hide a
piece of stolen light in my tail. I'll put it on my head. "
He flew to the other side of the world and, diving straight into
the sun, seized it is his claws. He put it on his head, but it
burned his head feathers off. The people grabbed the sun away
from him, and ever since that time Buzzard's head has remained
bald. |
| Then
Grandmother Spider said, " Let me try! " First she
made a thick- walled pot out of clay. Next she spun a web
reaching all the way to the other side of the world. She was so
small that none of the people there noticed her coming. Quickly
Grandmother Spider snatched up the sun, put it in the bowl of
clay, and scrambled back home along one of the strands of her
web. Now her side of the world had light, and everyone rejoiced. |
| Spider
Woman brought not only the sun to the Cherokee, but fire with
it. And besides that, she taught the Cherokee people the art of
pottery making. |
| It is said
that when a Native American reaches into a bag of grain and
takes a handful out, some of that grain spills to the ground. |
| The true
Native leaves a seed and only takes what he needs for that
moment. |
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The seed
that was left on the ground is the seed for tomorrow...........
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The seed
for the next seven generations...........
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BUTTERFLIES
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| One day
the Creator was resting, sitting, watching some children at play
in a village. The children laughed and sang, yet as he watched
them, the Creator's heart was sad. He was thinking:"These
children will grow old. Their skin will become wrinkled. Their
hair will turn gray. Their teeth will fall out. The young
hunter's arm will fail. These lovely young girls will grow ugly
and fat. The playful puppies will become blind, mangy dogs. And
those wonderful flowers - yellow and blue, red and purple - will
fade. The leaves from the trees will fall and dry up. Already
they are turning yellow." Thus the Creator grew sadder and
sadder. It was in the fall, and the thought of the coming
winter, with its cold and lack of game and green things, made
his heart heavy. |
| Yet it was
still warm, and the sun was shinning. The Creator watched the
play of sunlight and shadow on the ground, the yellow leaves
being carried here and there by the wind. He saw the blueness of
the shy, the whiteness of some cornmeal ground by the women.
Suddenly he smiled. "All those colors, they ought to be
preserved. I'll make something to gladden my heart, something
for these children to look at and enjoy." |
| The
Creator took out his bag and started gathering things: a spot of
sunlight, a handful of blue from the sky, the whiteness of the
cornmeal, the shadow of playing children, the blackness of a
beautiful girl's hair, the yellow of the falling leaves, the
green of the pine needles, the red, purple, and orange of the
flowers around him. All these he put into his bag. As an
afterthought, he put the songs of the birds in, too. |
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Then he
walked over to the grassy spot where the children were playing.
"Children, little children, this is for you," and he
gave them his bag. "Open it; there's something nice
inside," he told them.
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The
children opened the bag, and at once hundreds and hundreds of
colored butterflys flew out, dancing around the childrens heads,
settling on their hair, fluttering up again to sipp from this or
that flower. And the children, enchanted, said that they had
never seen anything so beautiful.
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The
butterflies began to sing, and the children listened smiling.
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But then a
songbird came flying, settling on the Creator's shoulder,
scolding him, saying: "It's not right to give our song's to
these new, pretty things. You told us when you made us that
every bird would have his own song. And now you've passed them
all around. Isn't it enough that you gave your new playthings
the colors of the rainbow?"
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"You're
right," said the Creator. "I made one song for each
bird, and I shouldn't have taken what belongs to you."
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So the
Creator took the songs away from the butterflies, and that's why
they are silent. "They're beautiful even so!" he said
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Source:
American Indian - Myths and Legends
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graphic by San Silverhawk |
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