Ancestors (a work in progress)

The late afternoon sun offers itself up as sacrifice on the altar of night, its body wrapped in an ever darkening shroud. In a clearing man-shapes gather and huddle together in an already ancient ritual to greet the gathering dark. Licks of firelight dance and wrestle with shadows making the huddled shapes and faces around the fire bob and sway in a weird sort of primeval dance. Tendrils of smoke snake and search their way up into the darkness like seeking fingers. Sparks shoot skyward like rejected meteorites zooming back out to the vast emptyness of space from which they came. In the background vague, half lit trees reach overhead into the circle of light with their twisted arms as they writhe in eerie sympathy with the shapes around the fire, leaping in and out like a zoom lens gone mad in the flickering light. Dark, unseen forest legions array themselves behind the vanguard of tussling trees, ready to march into the ring of light each time the flames jump high. Voices raise and lower, punctuated by the pop and crackle of the fire. The faint words, like whispers, barely touch the ears; their meaning is swept away by clumps of wind. Quiet, nervous laughter punctuates the intermittent cacophony of voices and night sounds. As unseen eyes sit around the fire and watch the dancing, licking flames, more unseen eyes watch the watchers. The firelight throws up a flickering boma to keep the invisible watchers at bay.