Title Pending

"Not until we see The Lights!" Isobel explained to her daughter for what felt like the tenth time that early cool spring morning. She appreciated her daughters enthusiasm for what use to be a Kinross-shire institution, The Dance of the Wave Bird, but whose interest and significance seemingly over night was becoming dull to the senses of all too many. She remembered listening to her grandmother tell of how the shire would seem to burst into a controlled frenzy of anticipation days before what use to be monthly but now biannual Dances were to take place. Places of business, mainly agriculturally in her grandmother's days, would grind to a peaceful halt for the Dances. Everyone knew everyone in those day, and there was none local or traveler without a place to stay, food in their belly, and a locally brewed point of ginger Ale to top off. She remembered snuggling with her grandmother near a warm hearth while be instructed- no, more like having a family epic, her family's epic told to her as if she was walking in their shoes. "The Lights aren't just for show little Izy" she said, "They guide the Ancestors safely across the great Plains, and in return the Ancestors direct the light of the nearest stars to not forget our Kinross- our beautiful shire."