can anyone help me in making short and in simple english summary of this story? I will be grateful to u..thank you

"In 1851 Seattle, chief of the Suquamish and
other Indian tribes around Washington's
Puget Sound, delivered what is considered
to be one of the most beautiful and
profound environmental statements ever
made. The city of Seattle is named for the
chief, whose speech was in response to a
proposed treaty under which the Indians
were persuaded to sell two million acres of
land for $150,000." -- Buckminster Fuller
in Critical Path .
Chief Seattle's Thoughts
How can you buy or sell the sky, the warmth
of the land? The idea is strange to us.
If we do not own the freshness of the air and
the sparkle of the water, how can you buy
them?
Every part of this earth is sacred to my people.
Every shining pine needle, every sandy shore,
every mist in the dark woods, every clearing
and humming insect is holy in the memory and
experience of my people. The sap which
courses through the trees carries the memories
of the red man.
The white man's dead forget the country of
their birth when they go to walk among the
stars. Our dead never forget this beautiful
earth, for it is the mother of the red man. We
are part of the earth and it is part of us. The
perfumed flowers are our sisters; the deer, the
horse, the great eagle, these are our brothers.
The rocky crests, the juices in the meadows,
the body heat of the pony, and man --- all
belong to the same family.
So, when the Great Chief in Washington sends
word that he wishes to buy our land, he asks
much of us. The Great Chief sends word he will
reserve us a place so that we can live
comfortably to ourselves. He will be our father
and we will be his children.
So, we will consider your offer to buy our land.
But it will not be easy. For this land is sacred
to us. This shining water that moves in the
streams and rivers is not just water but the
blood of our ancestors. If we sell you the land,
you must remember that it is sacred, and you
must teach your children that it is sacred and
that each ghostly reflection in the clear water
of the lakes tells of events and memories in the
life of my people. The water's murmur is the
voice of my father's father.
The rivers are our brothers, they quench our
thirst. The rivers carry our canoes, and feed
our children. If we sell you our land, you must
remember, and teach your children, that the
rivers are our brothers and yours, and you
must henceforth give the rivers the kindness
you would give any brother.
We know that the white man does not
understand our ways. One portion of land is
the same to him as the next, for he is a
stranger who comes in the night and takes
from the land whatever he needs. The earth is
not his brother, but his enemy, and when he
has conquered it, he moves on. He leaves his
father's grave behind, and he does not care. He
kidnaps the earth from his children, and he
does not care. His father's grave, and his
children's birthright are forgotten. He treats
his mother, the earth, and his brother, the sky,
as things to be bought, plundered, sold like
sheep or bright beads. His appetite will devour
the earth and leave behind only a desert.
I do not know. Our ways are different than
your ways. The sight of your cities pains the
eyes of the red man. There is no quiet place in
the white man's cities. No place to hear the
unfurling of leaves in spring or the rustle of
the insect's wings. The clatter only seems to
insult the ears. And what is there to life if a
man cannot hear the lonely cry of the
whippoorwill or the arguments of the frogs
around the pond at night? I am a red man and
do not understand. The Indian prefers the soft
sound of the wind darting over the face of a
pond and the smell of the wind itself, cleaned
by a midday rain, or scented with pinon pine.
The air is precious to the red man for all
things share the same breath, the beast, the
tree, the man, they all share the same breath.
The white man does not seem to notice the air
he breathes. 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.
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.
So we will consider your offer to buy our land.
If we decide to accept, I will make one
condition - the white man must treat the
beasts of this land as his brothers.
I am a savage and do not understand any other
way. I have seen a thousand rotting buffaloes
on the prairie, left by the white man who shot
them from a passing train. I am a savage and
do not understand how the smoking iron horse
can be made more important than the buffalo
that we kill only to stay alive.
What is man without the beasts? If all the
beasts were gone, man would die from a great
loneliness of the spirit. For whatever happens
to the beasts, soon happens to man. All things
are connected.
You must teach your children that the ground
beneath their feet is the ashes of our
grandfathers. So that they will respect the land,
tell your children that the earth is rich with
the lives of our kin. Teach your children that
we have taught our children that the earth is
our mother. Whatever befalls the earth befalls
the sons of earth. If men spit upon the ground,
they spit upon themselves.
This we know; the earth does not belong to
man; man belongs to the earth. This we know.
All things are connected like the blood which
unites one family. All things are connected.
Even the white man, whose God walks and
talks with him as friend to friend, cannot be
exempt from the common destiny. We may be
brothers after all. We shall see. One thing we
know which the white man may one day
discover; our God is the same God.
You may think now that you own Him as you
wish to own our land; but you cannot. He is
the God of man, and His compassion is equal
for the red man and the white. The earth is
precious to Him, and to harm the earth is to
heap contempt on its creator. The whites too
shall pass; perhaps sooner than all other tribes.
Contaminate your bed and you will one night
suffocate in your own waste.
But in your perishing you will shine brightly
fired by the strength of the God who brought
you to this land and for some special purpose
gave you dominion over this land and over the
red man.
That destiny is a mystery to us, for we do not
understand when the buffalo are all
slaughtered, the wild horses are tamed, the
secret corners of the forest heavy with the
scent of many men and the view of the ripe
hills blotted by talking wires.
Where is the thicket? Gone. Where is the
eagle? Gone.
The end of living and the beginning of survival.