The Black Hills once spoke.
Indians, trappers, explorers, and traders in South Dakota’s Black Hills prior to the 19th century reported that they would occasionally hear unexplained noises — distant booms like huge drums or faraway cannon, quite unlike thunder. This booming was part of the reason that the Indians considered the hills sacrosanct and would only venture into them occasionally, furtively, catching game only at great need, and always leaving rich offerings hanging from the Ponderosa in exchange. The last report of the booming was from an expedition in 1833. No white man or Indian has heard the noises since.
So, what was the booming really? There is no official scientific explanation.
Whatever it “really” was — echoes in the underground cave systems, falling trees or rocks, aliens doing a bit of mining, Babe the Blue Ox’s ancestors, giant footsteps, the breath of gods — whatever it “really” was, the important thing is what speaks to our spirit.

You startle awake. Your campfire has gone out. The stars are shining bright and hard, and the wind is rattling the branches overhead.
Boom, boom.
Find your pack and grab your gun, they’re coming.
Boom, boom. Away from the stream, where the brush is too thick, up under the pines, where there is room to run —
Boom, boom, they’re coming.
Out from the trees under a yawning mouth of sky, you see them.
Shaggy, black, towering,
The giants are out hunting,
Bald craggy heads,
Breath like cave winds,
Animals racing around them,
The Hills are giants.
The Hills are giants.
(Even the white man knows in his heart —
He’s carved huge faces in the living rock –)
The Hills are giants.
Boom, boom. They’re coming.
May the Hills arise and speak again.

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