Walk Paddle Dream
Our dead never forget this beautiful world that gave them being. They still love its verdant valleys, its murmuring rivers, its magnificent mountains, its lakes and bays, and ever yearn in tender fond affection over the lonely hearted living, and often return to visit, guide, console, and comfort them.
The very dust under your feet responds more lovingly to our footsteps than to yours, because it is the ashes of our ancestors, and our bare feet are conscious of its sympathetic touch, for the soil is rich with the life of our kindred
Every hillside, every valley, every plain and grove has been hallowed by some fond memory or some sad experience of my tribe... and when your children's children shall think themselves alone in the field, the store, the shop, upon the highway or in the silence of the woods, they will not be alone... and at night, when the streets of your cities and villages are silent, and you think them deserted, they will throng with the returning hosts that once filled and still love this beautiful land."