Soon there are tellers of tales,
As some are apt for hunting,
Some for making spears.
The Sky-fire
Through black clouds of the long dark
A spear of light.
Look! The sky-fire! The sky-fire's lit again.
Out they run, slipping, sliding, falling
To their meeting place for the long light.
On that hill they stand together, look...
On the hill across the valley
Those in the next cave to them stand, look. ..
The clouds go.
In the blue air there on the edge
Slides the round red fire.
They shout, stretch up their arms.
The snow moves, takes the shapes
Of hares, rats, mice, foxes, white on white.
Whiskers, alert, shine pink from the sky.
Wolves bark and jump in the trees.
(Wolves howl for the white face in the sky,
For the coloured winds that shake and shift,
Then they cower and whine and howl.
Now they leap about and bark.)
An eagle floats and screams.
From snow and sky barking, screaming, squeaking, chittering.
It
is a full salute and welcome.
The bears in the snow holes wake a little,
Grumble, then back to sleep.
Not yet the time, not time yet.
