This song was inspired by the song 'Dust Bowl Dance' by Mumford and Sons. Odisdera-kun also requested this one but I doubt this is what she was thinking either. I'm just messing with her at this point… I'm a real fillintheblank. Whoops!

Dust Bowl Dance

Matthew walked through the ghost town with bare feet. His long hair was discoloured with soot and ash, braided with feathers and glass beads. It was impossible to tell what colour it used to be.

He wore bone carvings and leather knots around his neck and wrists; his ears were pierced with porcupine spines. He wore metal chewing tobacco lids, rolled up into cones, on his ankles. The charms caught the light and jingled with each step.

His name was not Matthew, not really, but it was the only name he remembered. He was all alone now, his father long gone, and the English men refused to accept his language or traditions. They christened him 'Matthew' instead, and so he was Matthew.

His toes dug into the dirt with each step; his feet were blackened and cracked.

Matthew ran his fingers over the derelict houses. This had been their land, once upon a time, but the English and French and Scottish had stolen it. They had used it up and abandoned it once it was barren.

As far as they were concerned, the places they walked were meant to be owned, subjugated, and sold. They refused to believe in the concept of a spirit. They refused to believe in life, and in living, and in stepping lightly. They refused to be a part of something; not when they could tear it apart instead.

It was sad.

Matthew closed his eyes and leaned into the wind. He listened to the leaves on the few trees left and the chittering of scavengers jumping from shadow to shadow. He could also hear a large predator circling the settlement but he was not worried. Not yet, anyway.

"What are you doing here? Everyone left."

Matthew opened his eyes to see a spirit painted in white; a vision of some sort. He had seen spirits before, so he just shrugged.

"Is there somewhere else I should be?"

He did not bother asking why they were speaking the same language, or why the spirit was so pale. Language was fluid to spirits, a non issue, and Matthew had seen a white bison when his father was still alive.

The white bison were sacred and, therefore, so was the apparition. It seemed obvious.

"I suppose not," the spirit agreed. It, or he, for it was certainly male in shape, looked over the ghost town with exasperation and regret.

"My name is Matthew," he supplied, "and what should I call you?"

The spirit blinked.

"You can call me… Gilbert."

And Matthew did not question his choice in name either.

"Do you live here, Gilbert?"

"I did. Before." Gilbert bent down and pressed his cheek against the fractured earth and dust. He was pale and naked and somehow managed to fit in even as he stood out.

"Me too," Matthew said. "Where will you go?"

"I'm not sure. I've never known anything else, really."

"… You could come with me, then."

Gilbert looked up at him. His eyes were the colour of the sweet raspberries he picked along the trails in the midsummer heat; brilliant and searching and profound.

"And where are you going?"

"I don't know, but I'd rather not go alone." Matthew approached the spirit and held out his hand. "There's nothing left for us here."

Gilbert studied him a moment longer before sighing.

"No. Not anymore."

Gilbert placed his hand in Matthew's and let himself be pulled up. Matthew was surprised at how solid the spirit seemed beneath his fingertips. He held his hand tightly, tracing his knuckles with rough calluses, and started walking north.

They never looked back…

After all, there was nothing to see. Not anymore.


Author's Notes:

This song made me think of relocation and land tax and working the fields to ruin. I decided to focus on the aboriginal perspective.

The charms mentioned here, made from chewing tobacco lids, are common to several aboriginal groups and their Pow Wow regalia. I am most familiar with the Ojibwe and Cree traditions, and these charms are used on the 'jingle dress'. If you have never been to a Pow Wow, I would recommend it. They're very neat. (I'm lucky that where I live is more in touch with aboriginal culture than most places. Manitoba has a very high aboriginal population.)

There are several sacred white animals in a wide range of aboriginal cultures, such as the white raven, the ghost of the white deer, the spirit bear, and the white bison. I have seen a white bison at our local zoo (his name is Blizzard, of course).