we’re hunter-gatherers but there is so much game around here we hardly need to hunt.

also plenty to gather.

no need to move on. we’ve settled down for a while.

the new-fangled farmers in these parts all died off along with their pigs. first the pigs got sick, then the farmers.

we do not plan to farm. too much work. why bother?

so i got bored. restless. nothing to do. tried making pots with the river clay. tried a little weaving. found myself edging into women’s work and my friends made fun of me.

the shaman gathered the young men into his deerskin tent. fed us a paste made from yellow roots. we met our ancestors.

mine told me to carve images of them in rock, a sign that they had walked the earth before going to the otherworld.

you cannot carve rock with a bone tool. i went to a farm and found tools harder than rock. used them to carve.

it took a long time but i finished the ones that my ancestors told me to make. The tribe moved on but my ancestors will remain forever, there where we camped.

editor’s note: this guy was way ahead of his time.

for Sunday Photo Prompt

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