Even those of us in the land of rain begin to think that a little sun wouldn't hurt that much.
Loud are the thunder drums in the tents of the mountains.
Oh, long, long
Have we eaten chia seeds
and dried deer's flesh of the summer killing.
We are tired of our huts
and the smoky smell of our clothing.
We are sick with the desire for the sun
And the grass on the mountain.
- Paiute Late Winter Song* Read more about Long About Now