The old woman sits with hands crossed

she remembers back to a time when those same hands

younger

smaller

watched while others held the rough edge of a blanket

elders showing her the art of smoke signals

no longer used

now reduced to the stuff of old stories

fire, water, smoke,

blanket = communication

between far away people

a sort of primitive prairie binary code

if you will

one puff yes

two puffs no

now all of it taken care of by satellites

we gaze at them each night

their existence burns in the heavens