I had a great friendnin Tulsa, OklahomanA Muscogee Creek Womannat the basement rock shownnthe last time i was therenshe made a pinion firenand she talked about ghosts and old paranormal storiesnone about a ball of life that had entered in her bodynnlater that nightni cannot fall asleepni was thinking bout the spirit in the half breed's graveyardnand the picture on the wallnout to me she did recallni went to sleepnher grandpa cursed the white man in his languagennand on the floor i laynmore embarrassed than afraidna low muttered curse became the sound of women laughing...nnI propped up my headnin the darkness i reread na photocopied interviewnof the man in the photographnnMose Wiley: A biography, Works Progress AdministrationnHere is some of what he said:nnI am a Creek Indiannborn in 1886n4 miles east ofnAna, OklahomanMy father's name was Willie KautalenA full blooded Creeknhe had little education nmy mother's name it was Polly Watsonnand she belonged a Lady's Societynshe was a baptistnso was my fathernand I myself am a Baptist Ministernwhen i was a boynat the age of 8 yearsnvery few Creek had plows or a wagonnif you had a plow, pony, shovel or a wagonnit was no lie if you called yourself a rich mannfarms those days weren5 or 6 acresncorn hand plantedn3 kernels to a hillnif you wanted hog meat you could always have somenthe woods were full of wild pig all year longnand money was not usednif we had to pay the billsnChief would pay the blacksmithnwe would pay the doctor.nGroups would form andngot a lot of wood andndid all the things that the doctors needed done.nnSometimes I'm sure, nI'm really quite sure that the obscure images have a great significancenThe ice berg tipped nthe hull the on the ship, theres an awful lot of love it's got to make a little difference.