When I was a small boy we moved to Arizona for a short while. My Dad came home one day with a syrup bucket full of black rocks. The Apache Indians told him about the legend of the black rocks. They said the rocks were formed when the Apache women mourning, cried tears for the loss of their men in battle....and the tears fell to the ground The Great Spirit heard their mourning and saw their tears. The Great Spirit turned the tears into the black rocks...that arnt. Eventually the bucket full of rocks my Dad had gathered disappeard with time...after he passed my brothers,sisters and I were cleaning out his shed. I saw five of the Indian teardrop rocks left in an old bucket. I remembered the story and kept the rocks with their consent. One day last November my son came to East Texas to visit me. He saw the rocks and asked about them. I told him the legend as I remembered my Dad told me. The rocks were tarnished and dirty. I began to rub one on my jeans just like my Dad had done many years ago. After I finished I told him to look at the rock in my hand and asked what he saw. He said, A shiney black rock. Then I said, Hold it up to the light and tell me what you see? ... (If you want to hear the rest of this story let me know) FAMILY AND RELATIVES IF YOU KNOW THE REST, KEEP IT TO YOURSELF AND LET ME BE THE ONE TO FINISH THE STORY
Posted on: Sat, 10 Jan 2015 19:34:05 +0000
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