The Ritual of Season

25 I. Autumn The candles we burned each monsoon night in August stained the wooden holders that kept them in place. As storm beat mauve to night and night beat mauve to damp morning, we extinguished fire and bore the day like a crown. II. Winter dogged air nipped at our faces as we lay in formation along the stiff ground—the young tribe athirst waiting mouths open longing for snow daily the heavens held back their glory and we swept angels Remica Bingham The Ritual of Season 26 Ecotone: reimagining place into hard earth— donning the silt of adobe wings mocking the sun damning her III. Spring The swollen hum, circadian rhythm, displaced cockcrow, heralded dawn. We toured the tan flatland, the ages marked in furrowed caverns— empty, cactus-ridden—sacred secret paintings the only life left on cave drawn walls. Noon day, come high sun and oasis, the headland showed her fury. Dust would flare and we’d call it devil— sheathing our faces, yielding to copper coating our skin. 27 IV. Summer Under desert sun, road became wavering river. The shimmer of heat, salamander swift, crossed the burning middle of July. When the moon, large as ancestry, conquered the sky, our weapons were bare feet and laughter— a porchswing vigil staving off the day. Remica Bingham ...