"Dance of the Changing Seasons" is an Ojibwa American Indian legend.

Long ago, when the world was new, the trickster known as Nanabush was peacefully wandering in the warm evening air when a brisk wind brushed his cheek. Until that moment the air had been summery, thick with scents, insects and moisture.

A moment later a startled Nanabush saw one of his brothers run past, challenging him to a race, but before he could chase after him, a sight ahead distracted him. A group of people near the lake shore had gathered, and they were dancing.

Nanabush frowned. He did not like to be left behind by anyone, and he did not like to be left out of any gathering. "How could they not invite me to join their dance?" he wondered aloud. "Nobody forgets to invite Nanabush!"

He ran toward the dancers, but as he came nearer he blinked. The sun had moved low in the sky, and it seemed the angle of this autumn light had deceived him.

He squinted, and he saw that he was wrong. These were not people dancing; these were bulrushes waving in the wind.

Nanabush stared at the lovely sight. The bulrushes dipped and swayed. Now Nanabush enjoyed the feel of the wind, for he saw the bulrushes enjoying their dance. His feet tapped. How he wished to join them!

He stepped forward and cleared his throat. "Excuse me, I'd like to dance with you," he said. "I'm a very good dancer, you know."

The tallest bulrush waved him away. "We can dance forever. We never grow tired. We'll dance until the seasons change again. You may be a god, but you could never keep up with us, Nanabush."

"I can keep up with anyone. I'll show you what I can do."

But the bulrushes, like everyone and everything else in that part of the world, knew all about Nanabush. They knew he liked to play tricks on others, and so one of the bulrushes decided this might be the moment to play a trick on the trickster himself. The bulrushes sighed. "All right, you can join us."

One of the bulrushes bent forward. "Be my partner," the bulrush said. "Just tie your hair to mine, and we'll dance for days!"

Nanabush attached the bulrush to his hair. A moment later, the cool wind swept through the party and the dancing grew faster.

"How wonderful!" Nanabush cried. He loved to sway and swing, to twirl and twist. So happy was he, he forgot all about his brother's challenge. He could race another day. For now, all he wanted to do was dance.

After a while the sun began to set, the wind picked up, and on they danced, swaying this way, bending that way, faster and faster. Nanabush's partner bent so low, the trickster nearly touched the ground, but he only shouted out with glee, "Let us keep dancing!"

The bulrushes and Nanabush danced deep into the night.

"How are you doing?" Nanabush's partner asked, and Nanabush smiled, though just before dawn he began to wish that they could rest.

"I wonder if we might stop a moment," Nanabush whispered, but the bulrush shook his feathery stem. "Oh no, never. We'll dance for days," he said, and on they twirled.

The next night Nanabush whispered again to his partner, "Excuse me, do you think at dawn we might rest for only a moment?" But again the bulrush ignored the plea and danced on.

Now Nanabush could never admit he was tired. He was too proud. But as the sun rose higher on the third day, he felt his legs begin to wobble, and he feared he might collapse. Just then his brother once again raced past him and the cold wind chilled Nanabush to the bone.

"You can't catch me now that you're tired," his brother chided him. This was too much. Nanabush plucked the bulrush from his hair. "I'm tired of your dance!" he cried, and he threw the bulrush into the water and ran off to chase his brother.

"Where have you been all these years?" his brother cried as Nanabush came close.

"What do you mean? I was only dancing for three days."

His brother laughed. "The bulrushes tricked you!" he said. "You danced for three years, brother. And all that time I have brought cold to the Earth."

"I'll chase your weather away," Nanabush said, racing as hard as he could, passing his brother. In each spot his moccasins touched the ground, flowers sprang up, and warm winds wafted over the land. But whenever his brother passed him, wintry weather came again.

"I'll show those bulrushes," Nanabush promised. "From now on their toes will always sink into damp, spongy soil. They'll never touch dry land."

Since that day, bulrushes live only in marshy coastline areas; their toes never do touch dry land. And whenever the weather changes suddenly, the people know that Nanabush and his brother are racing each other again.