At Woodhenge's sacred circle
Mississipians, roused from their huts,
gathered in winter's bleakness
waiting for the golden crown's
ascent above the solstice post.
Their Solar Priest presided:
explaining,
blessing,
interpreting,
and a**uring them all
that tomorrow's sun would rise
slightly farther to the north.
Last solstice morn at Cahokia,
latter day Mississippians
observed our red dwarf star
as it broke the tree - clad horizon,
inclined slightly to the right
and soared into cold December's sky.
Our Sun Priest, robed
in a ranger's jacket
in his own way:
explained,
blessed,
interpreted
and released us
to our journeys home -
a**ured that tomorrow's sun
again would climb the heavens
slightly farther to the north