✨Inspired by the Creek emergence story from Nunne Chaha✨
Before the rivers had names
and before the pine trees whispered their gossip to the wind,
we lived in the warm dark belly of the earth.
Not buried.
Gestating.
There was no sky.
Only soil and memory
and the low hum of something ancient cradling us—
the heartbeat of She-Who-Brought-Us-Here.
Our Mother.
Our Mountain.
Nunne Chaha, they call her now.
But we knew her as home.
When it was time,
we rose—
slow, like sap warming in spring.
We didn’t rush into the light.
We climbed.
Hands pressed to sacred clay.
Feet kissed by root and stone.
And when we emerged,
the sun didn’t blind us—
it baptized us.
It named us
People of Breath.
People of Fire.
Creek.
So when they ask where we came from,
we point to the mounds.
Not graves.
Wombs.
We are not a people of dust—
we are a people of rebirth.