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368 pages, Hardcover
First published October 9, 2014
I woke in the air – swept up by the angels of heaven all beating their wings together and singing. Then not singing but whispering. Whistling. Cooing. Gurgling. Crooning. Because they were not angels any more, they were pigeons, the same as last night, and now leaving with their mess drizzling beneath them in a continual white rain, first with laborious flusterings and squabblings, then twisting and looping and swaying and swerving until they had formed a gigantic letter S which held its shape . . . and held its shape . . . before it slackened and became a smoke-cloud blowing towards the horizon.
I saw him with his eyes shining, his head cocked at a familiar angle, but of course traveling alone now. Riding on northward until the cane-brake ended and he came to a ferry and crossed the river, where he approached the country of his fathers. [...] As these scenes flashed through me I began to see other men trekking toward him, Indians like himself, some members of his own tribe, some from tribes who lived adjacent, and all passing him on their way west as he continued east. They came in ones and twos, in families and groups—the children and the older squaws with bundles in their arms, the warriors with their weapons trailing and dogs panting at their heels. They came in silence, and they came chanting in time to the beat of a drum. They came when the sun rose and when the sun set. They filled the pathways under the trees, and the dry trails that crossed the scrubland. They came with the dust billowing around them in muddy clouds, and they came under clear blue skies.The start of the Trail of Tears.