I can hear the elders whispering in words so sweet and low The alder trees are listening to songs been sung before My friend and I collecting skeletons of leaves Marking tiny piles, and sifting through the weeds Wind blows the tiny green, tiny green Wind blows the tiny green, helicopter seeds Wind blows the tiny green, tiny green Wind blows the tiny green, helicopter seeds Oh! wandering in days unfolding With paths fashioned of mud and snakeskin Oh! wandering in days unfolding With paths fashioned of mud and snakeskin Of mud and snakeskin I think about the ladies who weren't allowed to sing Sewing all their pretty rows of thread instead of seed And what about the black braided sisters of Marie? We sat upon upon their grinding rock as children used to be Beneath the knotted pine, knotted pine Beneath the knotted pine at the garden's edge Beneath the knotted pine, knotted pine Beneath the knotted pine at the garden's edge Oh, laughing! Little girls clapping And ghosts weaving our hair to baskets Oh, laughing! Little girls clapping And ghosts weaving our hair to baskets Our hair to baskets I can hear the elders whispering in words so sweet and low The alder trees are listening to songs been sung before My friend and I collecting skeletons of leaves Making tiny piles and sifting through the weeds Making tiny piles and sifting through the weeds