The legend of those whom the moon has never forgotten
Quick summary
A poetic evocation of resilience and Indigenous presence. Beneath the gaze of an ancient moon, three figures and a white horse embody the living memory, the silent courage, and the continuity of a people the world has been unable to erase. It is a song of dignity that affirms, through calm and presence: "We are still here."
We are still here
Three figures hold the shoreline.
motionless as if the night itself had drawn them.
Their covers are heavy with color and history,
woven by patient hands,
laden with seasons gone by,
laden with names whispered through time.
Alongside them,
A white horse breathes slowly.
each breath rising and falling
like a quiet drum in the dark,
an old heartbeat
which has never stopped beating.
The moon rises, full and without blinking,
not like a lamp,
not like a flashing light,
but like the eye of an ancient
who remembers all the names
that the world has tried to bury,
of all the faces they tried to erase,
of all the stories that have been silenced.
She does not judge.
She acknowledges it.
The wildflowers bend down very close,
their stems brush against the night,
as if they too wanted to listen.
They listen to footsteps that don't move,
hearts that speak silently,
because some moments are stronger
when they choose calm.
A girl learns the form of patience
watching an adult remain gentle.
Not weak.
Soft.
A woman learns the form of courage
by letting the children stand by his side,
not behind her
not hidden,
not silenced.
At his side.
Visible.
Living.
The water reflects the night
like a promise kept on the lips,
a promise that doesn't seek to be shouted,
but honored.
Kept with care.
Never overturned.
They don't speak loudly.
They speak face to face.
With straight shoulders,
in the way the hands remain open,
in the way no one looks away.
The horse is waiting.
Not because he is tied up.
Not because he's afraid.
He waits because he knows.
He knows that nobody here is in a hurry.
He knows that nobody here is lost.
If the world demands oblivion,
They respond through memory.
If the world demands silence,
They respond with songs.
kept within the ribs,
where stories beat
that no one has managed to kill.
They do not ask permission to exist.
They exist.
The stars are scattered like pearls across the sky,
each a little reminder
that people are still there,
that the people are still there,
that the earth still recognizes them
even when the world pretends not to see.
And under this moon,
at the edge of this water,
in this inhabited silence,
Life continues to speak softly:
We are still here.
First purchase
For those who wish to extend this reading with a simple and meaningful gesture.
Each object is handcrafted on the Nitassinan by the Ilnu craftsman Dave Verreault-Thisselmagan.