Ritual

Happy as a swale he climbed to the sandy peak and cast eyes to the sweetwater sea before him. The sun was setting on Lake Michigan equal in spirit to his eyes as they followed through wave and spray and gas and dust. Sixteen gulls wheeled through his sight before the Sun met its end beyond the horizon and each one had its feet lifted to its body. The zooming gulls caught light on their wings and swore to the moon as it lifted itself up beyond the layers of vapor. Several stars peaked through abating fill of rosepink clouds meager at their edges, more moderate nearer the moon. The first brightest light met the eyes as a vision filled the mind, suddenly, the visage of Mars appearing glow-red. As rosy fingers gave way to blue nigh dark the breeze carried smoldering pine boughs to the mouth and nostrils, pleasing memories. Turning to see deeply above, he fell back to antiquity glinting from the stars gazing down to him and the fire he had made. Stooped over a dry stake prodding fire with his neck crook'd to the sky as before and before and before man had done to see.  The guiding light below his feet cast for fortunes and dreams, the ones above for fate and season.  Perching as he had below the night above the sweetwater sea with fire at his feet, a timeless ritual glowing around and in him