Dedicated to the Native American tribes, victims of the greatest genocide in history, who knew agriculture, and the art of living, when Europe was starving, crawling in medieval darkness.
He stands on the red rocks, alone with ghosts, his sight on the painted horizon.
Slowly they appear in his vision: the millions, slaughtered by disease, hunger, the swords and bullets of the invaders.
He remembers: a people in tune with nature, who understood the path of Mother Earth, as no-one since has understood Her.
And, now, he, the white scientist, knows the end is near: his own tribe will have to leave the Fourth World, and find solace in hell.
Then the braves will rise from their forgotten graves, as trees from the desert.
Written originally for the #FiveSentenceFiction prompt “Abandon”
Photo: 12th century Wupatki ruins, Wupatki National Monument