Call It A Ritual

They ate plump raspberries, pulled from the prickly canes. Rolled them on their tongues, tart and tangy and wild. They cupped their hands and drank from streams so cold it made their teeth ache. They dug holes in soft, sun-bleach sand, and sat there, looking up at sky through tree branches swaying overhead.

At night, they built bonfires on the lakeshore. They rolled the field grasses and flowers and fallen birch bark into bundles and tossed them into the flames, as sacrifice. Then they raised their arms to the stars and hooted and hollered and howled as they danced around.

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6 thoughts on “Call It A Ritual

  1. Craig, have you read Lorrie Moore’s brilliant short story ‘Dance in America’? The ending reminded me of that story.

      1. Oh I’m pleased Craig – she’s great I think. She does the whole funny-sad thing brilliantly and is truly great on weird relationships….

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