二樓陽台外的金桂花，植了好些年已長成小樹了，
一直未曾開過花，心想可能是品種在台灣尚未適應氣候所致……
長得很好、很健康，故不忍將之砍除，
不日有鳥巢進駐，小生命看上這裡選擇當作牠家的居所，
前天雨後發現，其實有三個小禽鳥精心編織的巢。
這裡自成一個無人管理的社區大樓居住地。
樹倒下了……
詩人說：
找吧，找吧，鳥兒們，
在那崇高的紀念裡，
你們的巢在什麼地方？
美國印第安西雅圖酋長說過：萬物皆屬同一呼吸……。
每次經過這裡，覺得世界真奇妙而美好！
愛蜜莉的短詩：
如果我能讓受傷的知更鳥安返牠的巢
此生便不再虛空
但我不知道蜂巢何在。
西雅圖酋長宣言－－
您怎麼能夠買賣穹蒼與土地的溫馨？ 多奇怪的想法啊！ 假如我們並不擁有空氣的清新與流水的光彩， 您怎能買下它們呢？
對我的人民而言， 大地的每一部份都是聖潔的。 每一枝閃亮的松針、 每一處沙洲、每一片密林中的薄靄、 每一隻嗡嗡作響的蟲兒， 在我人民的記憶與經驗中都是神聖的。樹中流動著的汁液， 載負著紅人們的記憶。
當白人的鬼魂在繁星之中遊蕩時， 早已忘卻他們出生的家園。 但我們的靈魂從不曾忘記這片美麗的土地，因為她是紅人的母親。 我們屬於大地， 而大地也是我們的一部份。 芬芳的花朵是我的姊妹， 鹿兒、 馬兒和巨鵰都是我們的兄弟。 怪石嶙峋的山峰、 草原上的露水、 小馬溫暖的身體、 及我們人類， 都是一家人。
所以， 當偉大的白人領袖自華盛頓傳話來， 說他想要買我們的土地時， 他要求的實在太多了。 他說， 他會為我們保留一片土地， 讓我們得以舒服地過日子。 他將成為我們的父兄， 而我們將是他的子民。
因此， 我們得考慮你們的要求。 但實際上， 那是多麼不可能啊！ 因為這是我們神聖的土地。 小溪河川裡波光粼粼的流水， 對我們而言， 不只是水， 而是先祖們的血液。倘若我們把土地賣給你們， 你們必需記住， 這是神聖的土地。 而你們也必定要告訴你們的子孫， 它是聖潔的，每一片清澈湖水的朦朧倒影裡， 都埋藏著我們生活中的點點滴滴。河水喃喃的彽迴， 是我袓先的聲音。
河水就如同我們的兄弟， 滿足了我們的乾渴。河水載運了我們的獨木舟， 並養育了我們的子孫。如果我們將土地賣給你們， 你們必定要教導你們的子孫， 它是我們的手足， 也是你們的弟兄， 因此，你必需對它付出關懷， 一如你對待你的兄弟一樣。
我們知道， 白人不能體會我們的想法。 他們就像夜晚到訪的異鄉客， 對大地予取予求， 每一吋大地對他們而言，看來都是一樣的。他們將大地視為敵人，一步一步地加以征服， 而非以兄弟之禮對待。 他無視於父祖的墳地， 他剝奪了子孫的土地， 一點都不在乎祖先們的勞苦與後代生存的權力。他對待他的故土及兄弟， 就如同綿羊與耀眼的首飾一樣， 可以隨意地買賣與掠奪。他的貪婪將毀滅大地， 而最後留下來的， 將只是一片荒蕪。
我真的不懂。 我們之間的生活方式是如此不同。 你們城市的景象刺痛了紅人們的眼睛。 但也許因為紅人們是野蠻人而無法理解吧！在白人的城鎮裡找不到寧靜。 聽不到春天枝葉迎風招展的聲音， 或是蟲兒挀翅的歡鳴。 但也許因為我是個野蠻人而無法理解吧！ 這些喧鬧聲看來只會污損我們的耳朵。 假如不能聽到夜鷹孤寂的叫聲， 或是夜晚池畔青蛙的爭鳴。 那會是怎麼樣的生活呢？我是紅人， 所以不明白。 印地安人喜歡微風拂過池面的輕柔細語， 以及午後陣雨所洗淨、或是被矮松所薰香的風的味道。
大氣對紅人而言是珍貴的， 因為野獸、 森林、 人類及萬物都分享著同樣的氣息。 白人似乎不在意他們所呼吸的空氣。 就好像死了幾天的人， 已經對惡臭毫無知覺。但是， 倘若我們將土地賣給你們， 您們必需記得， 大氣對我們而言是珍貴的， 衪與衪所養育的萬物共享著這份靈氣。
風，送來了我們祖先的第一口氣， 也帶走了他們最後一聲的嘆息。 假如我們將土地賣給了你， 你們必需維持祂的獨特與莊嚴，使祂成為一塊即使是白人也可以品嘗被花草所薰香的風的地方。 因此， 我們得考慮你們的要求。 假如我們接受的話，我有一個條件， 那就是白人必需對待大地上的野獸如自已的兄弟一般。我只是個野人， 並不瞭解其它的想法。 我曾經目睹被路過火車上的白人所射殺的千萬頭野牛，牠們的屍體被棄置於大草原之上任其腐敗。 我只是個野人， 無法明白這冒著煙的鐵馬居然會比我們為了生存而殺死的野牛更為重要。人沒有了野獸會變得怎麼樣呢？倘若所有的動物都消失了， 人類將死於心靈最深處的空虛寂寞。現在發生在野獸身上的事， 很快地就會應驗到人類來。所有的一切都是相互有著關連的。
你們務必教導你們的孩子， 他們腳下的土地， 是我們先民的遺蹟。因此， 他們才會尊敬土地， 告訴你的孩子們， 因為有著我們生命的存在，才使得大地更加地豐富。 讓你們的孩子知道， 大地是我們的母親， 我們向來如此教育著我們的子孫。任何發生在大地上的， 必將同樣地降臨在祂的子民身上。假如人們唾棄了大地， 其實他們就是唾棄了自己。
我們知道， 大地不屬於人類， 而人類屬於大地。我們知道， 每一件事物都是有關連的， 就好像血緣緊緊結合著一家人。所有的一切都是相互有著關連的。現在發生在大地的事， 必將應驗到人類來。人類並不主宰著生命， 他只不過是其中的一小部份而已。他對大地做了什麼， 都會回應到自己身上。即使與他們的上帝能如同朋友一般相處的白人， 也無法免於相同的命運。畢竟， 我們都是兄弟。 我們知道一件事：終有一天我們會看到， 白人必將發現我們的上帝是同一位！
你們現在也許認為， 因為你們擁有神， 所以也可以占有我們的土地， 但是不能這樣。祂是眾人的神， 祂的慈悲平等地分享給紅人與白人。大地對祂是珍貴的， 對大地的傷害， 是對造物主的輕蔑。白人也終將滅絕， 甚至有可能比其它種族還快。如果你弄髒了自己的環境， 總有一天會窒息在你所丟棄的垃圾之中。
但即使您們死了， 上帝也會給你們榮耀， 因為祂帶領你們到這片土地來， 又不知為何給了你們統治紅人與土地的權力。
這樣的命運對我們來說真是難解。 尤其當野牛被屠殺， 野馬被訓服， 當森林中最隱密的角落也充滿了人味，原始的山陵景觀被電話線所破壞時， 我們真是不明白啊！
叢林哪兒去了？ 消失了！
老鷹哪兒去了？ 不見了！
美好的生活已經結束， 殘喘求生的日子開始！
How can you buy or sell the sky, the warmth of the land? The idea is strange to us. If we do not own the freshness of the air and the sparkle of the water, how can you buy them?
Every part of the Earth is sacred to my people. Every shining pine needle, every sandy shore, every mist in the dark woods, every clear and humming insect is holy in the memory and experience of my people. The sap which courses through the trees carries the memory of red man.
The white man's dead forget the country of their birth when they go to walk among the stars. Our dead never forget this beautiful Earth, for it is the mother of the red man. We are part of the Earth and it is part of us. The perfumed flowers are our sisters, the deer, the horse, the great eagle, these are our brothers. The rocky crests, the juices in the meadows, the body heat of the pony, and the man, all belong to the same family.
So, when the Great Chief in Washington sends word that he wishes to buy our land, he asks much of us. The Great White Chief sends word he will reserve us a place so that we can live comfortably to ourselves. He will be our father and we will be his children.
So we will consider your offer to buy land. But it will not be easy. For this land is sacred to us. This shining water that moves in streams and rivers is not just water but the blood of our ancestors. If we sell you land, you must remember that it is sacred, and you must teach your children that it is sacred and that each ghostly reflection in the clear water of the lakes tells of events in the life of my people. The waters murmur is the voice of my father's father.
The rivers of our brothers they quench our thirst. The rivers carry our canoes and feed our children. If we sell you our land, you must remember to teach your children that the rivers are our brothers, and yours, and you must henceforth give the rivers the kindness that you would give my brother.
We know that the white man does not understand our ways. One portion of land is the same to him as the next, for he is a stranger who comes in the night and takes from the land whatever he needs. The Earth is not his brother, but his enemy and when he has conquered it, he moves on. He leaves his father's graves behind, and he does not care. He kidnaps the Earth from his children, and he does not care. His father's grave, and his children's birthright are forgotten. He treats his mother, the Earth, and his brother, the same, as things to be bought, plundered, sold like sheep or bright beads. His appetite will devour the Earth and leave behind only a desert.
I do not know. Our ways are different from yours ways. The sight of your cities pains the eyes of the red man. But perhaps it is because the red man is a savage and does not understand. There is no quiet place in the white man's cities. No place to hear the unfurling of leaves in spring, or the rustle of an insect's wings. But perhaps it is because I am a savage and do not understand. The clatter only seems to insult the ears. And what is there to life if a man cannot hear the lonely cry of a whippoorwill or the arguments of the frogs around a pond at night. I am a red man and do not understand. The Indian prefers the soft sound of the wind darting over the face of the pond, and the smell of the wind itself, cleansed by a midday rain, or scented with the pinon pine.
The air is precious to the red man, for all things share the same breath - the beast, the tree, the man, they all share the same breath. The white man does not seem to notice the air he breathes. Like a man dying for many days, he is numb to the stench. But if we sell you our land, you must remember that the air is precious to us, that the air shares its spirit with all the life it supports.
The wind that gave our grandfather his first breath also receives his last sigh. And if we sell you our land, you must keep it apart and sacred, as a place where even the white man can go to taste the wind that is sweetened by the meadow's flowers. So we will consider your offer to buy our land. If we decide to accept, I will make one condition - the white man must treat the beasts of this land as his brothers. I am a savage and do not understand any other way. I have seen a thousand rotting buffaloes on the prairie, left by the white man who shot them from a passing train. I am a savage and do not understand how the smoking iron horse can be made more important than the buffalo that we kill only to stay alive. What is man without the beasts? If all the beasts were gone, man would die from a great loneliness of the spirit. For whatever happens to the beasts, soon happens to man. All things are connected.
You must teach your children that the ground beneath their feet is the ashes of our grandfathers. So that they will respect the land, tell your children that the Earth is rich with the lives of our kin. Teach your children what we have taught our children, that the Earth is our mother. Whatever befalls the Earth befalls the sons of the Earth. If men spit upon the ground, they spit upon themselves.
This we know - the Earth does not belong to man - man belongs to the Earth. This we know. All things are connected like the blood which unites one family. All things are connected. Whatever befalls the Earth - befalls the sons of the Earth. Man did not weave the web of life - he is merely a strand in it. Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself. Even the white man, whose God walks and talks with him as friend to friend, cannot be exempt from the common destiny. We may be brothers after all. We shall see. One thing we know, which the white man may one day discover - Our God is the same God.
You may think now that you own Him as you wish to own our land, but you cannot. He is the God of man, and His compassion is equal for red man and the white. The Earth is precious to Him, and to harm the Earth is to heap contempt on its Creator. The whites too shall pass, perhaps sooner than all other tribes. Contaminate your bed, and you will one night suffocate in your own waste.
But in your perishing you will shine brightly, fired by the strength of the God who brought you to this land and for some special purpose gave you dominion over this land and over the red man.
That destiny is a mystery to us, for we do not understand when the buffalo are slaughtered, the wild horses tamed, the secret corners of the forest heavy with scent of many men, and the view of the ripe hills blotted by talking wires.
Where is the thicket? Gone.
Where is the Eagle? Gone.
The end of living and the beginning of survival.
