Bonfire tonight, in honor of the Prodromos, bright enough to be seen from the next mountain, I imagine.
I will add one of my favorite poems, though it is not for all:
Light-winged Smoke, Icarian bird, Melting thy pinions in thy upward flight, Lark without song, and messenger of dawn, Circling above the hamlets as thy nest; Or else, departing dream, and shadowy form Of midnight vision, gathering up thy skirts; By night star-veiling, and by day Darkening the light and blotting out the sun; Go thou my incense upward from this hearth, And ask the gods to pardon this clear flame. Emerson said of this poem by Thoreau, "It is like a poem of Simonides," (which is true), "but it is better than any poem of Simonides." (Which is also true.)