a flash of a firefly in the night

A little while and I will be gone from among you, whither I cannot tell. From nowhere we came, into nowhere we go. What is life? It is a flash of a firefly in the night. It is a breath of a buffalo in the winter time. It is as the little shadow that runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset.

The Indian leader Crowfoot’s dying words, overlooking the Bow River in Southern Alberta, April 25, 1890