night comes and we sleep knowing the sun will return. before long there is a first call commotion. a band of birds on a branch twittering. connected comes the changing of lights. the darkness disappears and just as swiftly appears the soft sincerity of a rising sun. emerging we celebrate the arrival of light that dismisses the cool air and the delicate nourishing dew brushing against our cold bare feet.
in the very first hours of morning we step right into the warm shining day towards the circle where everything began. there in the middle a few thread bare sticks and the ancient fire maker. he simply sat silent whispering little lightning bolts towards the sticks. prancing as alerted fireflies they alight upon the sticks disappear and before a time fire appears in the rising smoke and crackle. he is our fire maker and we bow in reverence. as a people our fire maker gives our village much.