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The wind that gave our grandfather his first breath also receives his last sigh.And if we sell you our land, you must keep it apart and sacred, as a place where even the white man can go to taste the wind that is sweetened by the meadow’s flowers. If we decide to accept, I will make one condition – the white man must treat the beasts of this land as his brothers. I have seen a thousand rotting buffaloes on the prairie, left by the white man who shot them from a passing train.

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Like a man dying for many days, he is numb to the stench.

But if we sell you our land, you must remember that the air is precious to us, that the air shares its spirit with all the life it supports.

How can you buy or sell the sky, the warmth of the land? If we do not own the freshness of the air and the sparkle of the water, how can you buy them? Every shining pine needle, every sandy shore, every mist in the dark woods, every clear and humming insect is holy in the memory and experience of my people.

The sap which courses through the trees carries the memory and experience of my people.

Benjamin Allbright from FM 104.7 in Denver joined Andy and Jeff to discuss the free agency signings for Kirk Cousins and Case Keenum, the Browns preference for the top pick in the draft, the likelihood that Saquon Barkley goes top-10 in the NFL draft, the future of Deshone Kizer in Green Bay and the Browns plan to make trades before free agency.

Mary Kay joined Andy and Jeff to discuss Joe Thomas' future, the likelihood that Nate Solder signs in Cleveland and how much he'd cost, a recap of the moves made over the weekend, the chances the Browns draft 2 quarterbacks, Saquon Barkley's draft slot and the strength of the QB class.

His appetite will devour the Earth and leave behind only a desert. But perhaps it is because the red man is a savage and does not understand. No place to hear the unfurling of leaves in spring, or the rustle of an insect’s wings.

But perhaps it is because I am a savage and do not understand. And what is there to life if a man cannot hear the lonely cry of a whippoorwill or the arguments of the frogs around a pond at night. The Indian prefers the soft sound of the wind darting over the face of the pond, and the smell of the wind itself, cleansed by a midday rain, or scented with the pinon pine.

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