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  • There had been announced that in the Black Hills Story Tellers were going to meet and tell stories. It was an event open to anyone that was interested. I packed up my old little war pony and food for the day and headed for the Hills from Pine Ridge Reservation. It took about 3 hours to get there and I was so looking forward to what stories I would listen too and remember.
    When I arrived there were cars parked all over, looked like a good crowd. I put my old little war pony between some pretty fancy shiny cars with car alarms and headed in.
    There were folks all over the small book store, spilling on to the patio. The best view was I rushed outside. The air was filled with late summer smells, and the sun was bright.
    I looked around to see where the Story Tellers were so I could find a good spot to stand or sit at.
    It felt like eavesdropping as I walked around, listening for a conversation that would catch my ears.
    It was then that I realized. The Story Tellers were authors. And they were just out to promote themselves and not tell any stories.
    Sadly disappointed I left.
    But not before I walked through the little book store and saw a full sized buffalo inside the shop.
    When does the real become a caracture? Is it when a authors calls themselves a Story Teller? Or when a Buffalo gets stuffed?
    What remained with me was the photo of the Tipi--and that is worth remembering, enjoying and telling.

    Music is by Clarence Simpson
    Clarence Simpson / CC BY-NC 3.0
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