A Sunset Rainbow and a Cheyenne Prayer: Reclaiming the Beauty of the Skies
As I scrolled through Facebook this afternoon here in Florida, a vibrant post from my cousin up where I was born in Sheridan, Wyoming, caught my eye. Somewhere between Cheyenne and Sheridan, he’d captured three breathtaking photos of a sunset glowing with the kind of magic that only comes after a prairie storm. The sky was ablaze with hues of gold and pink, kissed by the soft shimmer of a rainbow arcing across the horizon. The ground glistened, hinting at recent rain—or maybe even a fleeting snow—but the earth wasn’t blanketed, just refreshed, alive with the promise of renewal.
I set my phone down and glanced at the book in my hands, Custer’s Fall: The Native American Side of the Story by David Humphreys Miller. I’d just finished a passage that stopped me in my tracks, and the timing felt like more than a coincidence. On page 240, under the section titled “Afternoon Reno,” Miller shares a gem from Cheyenne lore: their word for fishing line, no-non-o, means “trap” or “something caught.” But in the poetic heart of the Cheyenne language, it also means rainbow. To them, a rainbow wasn’t just a splash of color—it was a sacred sign, a trap that captured the thunder and lightning at the end of a storm, holding the chaos at bay and heralding peace.
As I read those words, I couldn’t help but see the rainbow in my cousin’s photos through new eyes. It wasn’t just a pretty sight; it was a story, a moment of nature’s poetry written across the Wyoming sky. I rushed back to Facebook and shared the Cheyenne insight with my cousin, adding my own reflection: “I’m reclaiming the rainbow from those who’ve tried to co-opt it. To me, it’s a divine trap, capturing our prayers of gratitude for the moisture that nourishes the prairies.”
That rainbow, glowing in the wake of the storm, felt like a bridge between the ancient wisdom of the Cheyenne and the modern gratitude in my heart. It reminded me that nature speaks in symbols, if we’re willing to listen. The Cheyenne saw the rainbow as a trap for the storm’s fury, a sign of balance restored. I see it as a reminder of hope, a testament to the beauty that follows hardship, and a call to give thanks for the life-giving rains that sustain the wide-open plains.
So here’s to the rainbows that grace our skies—whether in Wyoming’s vast prairies or in the quiet moments of reflection. They’re more than colors; they’re stories, prayers, and promises, woven into the fabric of the world. Next time you see one, pause. Think of the Cheyenne. Think of the storms they’ve tamed. And let your heart whisper a prayer of thanks for the beauty that endures.
Source: Custer’s Fall: The Native American Side of the Story by David Humphreys Miller, page 240, “Afternoon: Reno.”