, I, the mighty sun, watch the peaceful people of the plains, the Pawnee. Blazing and bright, I give warmth and light to them as they weave clothing from prairie grass. On the Great Plains, my brother, the buffalo, gives them seared meat, skin for teepees, and his bones for sharp weapons. Wildly and violently, my sister, the dark, vicious storm, showers sheets of water onto the rich and soft soil. Gliding through the riverbed, my cousin, the mighty river, nurtures the energetic rabbits, slippery fish, and stalking hawks. I

Near a slowly rippling river, the Pawnee built their damp, earth lodges. Helpful and honest, the women planted the three sisters – corn, beans and squash – near a trickling river. Patiently and peacefully, the men fished for slimy catfish, hunted the boastful pheasant, and herded the fast horses. Gathering berries, the children helped plant delicious watermelon by the creek. Beside the cool earth lodges, the children fed scraps of buffalo to the delighted dogs.

Soon strange white men came with face like bear and skin like turtles to the peaceful land of the Pawnee. Searching for rocks that shine, these cruel and desperate men demanded horses, food, and water for their tired and sick men. Angry and fierce, these outsiders rode deer without antlers and carried sticks that kill. Telling myths about gold, the Pawnee sent De Soto down the tumbling, Mississippi River to look for treasure. Shot by an arrow, the leader painfully died and was buried in the light, green water.

Today, the children of the Pawnee attend the white mans school and learn his ways. Few live on the land of their fathers, since theme parks and office building cover the land. On reservations, some of the Pawnee continue their old traditions of hunting rabbits and fishing for bass. At powwow, they practice dancing wildly, playing exciting music, weaving grass baskets, and speaking their original, native language. Working in cities, my people build massive houses of brick and long markets of cement.

Peacefully and honestly, although the future is unwritten, I predict the destiny of the Pawnee will be bright as the sun. On the prairie, their native language will still be spoken. Continuing the traditions of their ancestors, they will still live in the world of the white man. I, the sun, will provide light and warmth for my tribe. This is the legend of the Pawnee tribe, people of the Plains, my people.