Weci | Koninut

E pe micta kice miro wactepakak e kimiwok kimikawinano neta kaskina e askictek nipicik e ki pinaskik.

The fiery colors of the fire remind us of the importance of our collective memory.

The season of fiery colors allows itself to be tamed. The nakedness of the poplars embraces the softness of the leaves at their feet. The daylight dims gently, bringing darkness earlier than we wish. We breathe in the fresh air and the scent of a morning rain, awakening our ancestral memories.

Weriw aci kitci nahikwamitc masko e mirotowatc niska e kitoritci.

The bear begins its final journey, lulled by the song of the geese.

Our land is preparing to sleep for a few moons. The bear walks towards what will be its last journey. Cradled by the call of the geese in flight, heading south, the creature, weary with time, lowers its guard. In its ears, the trickling of the river recalls the sweet memories of the past, buried deep in the beaver’s home.

Aci mackotin aski micta kiciwemakoniw mosak e pimotetcik e mackotinik askiriw. E kotosonaniwok kitci miro kicitek makwinaniwon kimocominook.

The frozen earth trembles beneath the steps of the moose, and the flames remind us of the ancestors’ presence.

The great northern wind blows its snowflakes.The frozen earth trembles beneath the steps of the moose, who continue their path. Our hands, warmed by the lichen, hint at a harsh winter, but seated before a sky glowing at dusk, we sense the spirits of the ancestors in the crackling flames, reassuring us of the days ahead.

E pe sakasiketc pisimw kitci kiconak askiriw aci kitci pe takonitcik ka kanaweritakik atisokaniw

The first rays of the sun awaken the earth, heralding the arrival of new keepers of stories. 

Our Brother Sun gives birth to a new day with its first rays. The great maples release their sweet sap under the heartbeat of a newborn. Hear it? The ceremonial drum resounds through the ancestral trails covered with waterlogged snow. Here they are, the humans of tomorrow, the guardians of our stories.

Wecipapatcikan ka kanaweritakik tapwewiniw ki iciwirikonowok kackihowinik.

Dreams, bearers of truth, guide our nation towards abundance.

The great journey of spirits travels the vast land beneath our feet. Dreams do not lie. We must listen to them to guide our nation to where the fish will be caught, where the duck will be hunted, and where abundance will be our greatest ally.

 E pe micta kice miro wactepakak e kimiwok kimikawinano neta kaskina e askictek nipicik e ki pinaskik.

A gentle breeze wraps us, and wild fruits and healing flowers reveal themselves in the hands of the elders.

A gentle breeze makes the trees dance on the hills. A great warmth envelops my being. Sitting high atop the great spruces, I am mesmerized by the abundance of wild fruits and healing flowers, freely plucked by the aged hands of the elders.