The storm raged all day
Darkness more than light
Till it slowly gave way
Before the coming night

When an elder leader rose
A man of many moons
Stood up and struck a pose
To the sound of crying loons

He stood upon the shore
Near the crystal clear lake
All gathered up in lore
Would be his role to make

All eyes watch him react
As remnant storm clouds drift
Fading by blues and black
Their patterned swirls uplift

On followed streams of wind
One last breath almost done
Until they were all thinned
Poke glimpses of a tired sun

In a glowing wash of red
in the westward sky appeared
and by the Gods he was led
as he raised old arms revered

Back to the east it grew
A perfect arc in prism
All the colors stood so true
No murmurs caused a schism

The old man stood in trance
A creator of awe and light
The whole tribe began to dance
In their rapture sheer delight