I come from the house of the cedar and foam, Where the salmon runs thick past the village. I’ve filled my canoe with the wealth of the tide, But it feels like a shell with no one inside. I’ve seen the way that the killerwhales play, But I’d trade the whole ocean for one winter day— To see how the frost silver-plates your hair, Underneath the light of the Northern Light’s flare.
My people are carvers, we shape what we see, But no cedar spirit is as moving to me As the way you walk through the willow and birch, The end of a journey, the find of a search. I’ll bring you ooligan grease, strong as the sun, To keep your hearth warm when the summer is done. I’ll bring you the dentalium, polished and white, To hang from your ears like the stars in the night.
They say the mountains are walls between us, High peaks of granite and ancient dust. But water finds a way to the smallest crack, And I’m paddling north—I’m not looking back. I’ll learn the songs that your grandmothers knew, If it means I can sing them alongside of you.
Oh, Daughter of the North, where the permafrost holds, I’ll bring you the copper and the stories of old. I am the river, and you are the light, The aurora that dances in the middle of night. Let the Skeena wind carry my heart to your door, From the edge of the trees to the Arctic floor.
From the sea to the snow... From the tide to the glow... I am coming for you. Wayi Wah.