Submitted by Kindred Soul on
Seneca Northeast Woodlands Tale
When the world was new, long ago, an old man was wandering around.
This old man had long, white hair and whenever he stepped the ground
grew hard as stone. When he breathed the rivers stopped flowing and the ponds
became solid. The birds and animals fled before him and plants dried up and
died as the leaves shriveled and fell from the trees.
Finally, this old man found a place where he could set up his lodge.
He sat inside his lodge in front of a fire which gave off no heat, though a
strange flickering light came from it. His only friend was the North Wind,
who sat beside the fire with him and laughed as they spoke of things they
did to make the world a cold, hard place. They sat and smoked their pipes through
the long, white nights.
One morning, though, as the two dozed by their fire, they felt that something
was wrong. The air was harder to breathe and when they looked outside,
they saw strange things happening. The snowdrifts were growing smaller.
Cracks were forming in the ice on the ponds.
“Heh!” said the North Wind. “I can stay no longer.” He went out of the lodge
and flew through the air toward the north, not stopping until he again reached a
place where snow and ice were deep and there was no hint of warmth. But the
old man did not stir. He knew his magic was strong.
He had built his lodge to last.
Now, there came a knocking at his door. Someone was striking
against the ice so hard that pieces were falling away from his blows. “Go away!”
the old man shouted. “No one can enter my lodge.”
Even as he said it, the door of the lodge broke and fell to the ground.
A young man with a smile on his face stood there. Without a word he stepped
into the lodge and sat on the other side of the fire from the old man. He held a
green stick in his hand and with it he stirred the fire. As he stirred the fire it began
to grow warm. The old man felt sweat began to run down his face.
“Who are you?” said the old man. “Why have you broken my door? No one can
come in here but my friend, North Wind. If you do not leave, I will freeze you
with my breath.” Then the old man tried to blow his chilly breath at the young
stranger, but only a thin mist came from his lips.
The young man laughed. “Old man,” he said, “let me stay here and
warm myself by your fire.”
The old man grew angry. “I am the one who makes the birds and animals flee.
Wherever I step the ground turns into flint. I make the snow and ice. I am
mightier than you.” As he spoke, though, the old man felt more sweat run off
his brow, and the young man continued to smile.
“Listen,” the stranger said, “I am young and strong. You cannot frighten me.
Surely you know who I am. Do you not feel how warm my breath is?
Whenever I breathe the plants grow and the flowers bloom. Where I step the
grasses sprout and snow melts away. The birds and the animals come to me.
See how long my hair is? Your hair is falling out, Old Man. Whenever I travel
I bring sunshine and you cannot stay. Do you know me, Old Man?
Do you not hear my companion, the Fawn? She is the South Wind.
She is blowing on your lodge. It is your time to leave.”
The old man opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He grew
smaller and smaller and the sweat poured from his brow as he melted away.
Then he was gone. The walls of his lodge of ice and snow fell in.
Where his cold fire had burned, white flowers now bloomed. Once again,
the young man, Spring, had defeated the Old Man, Winter.
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