the fire never quite goes out.
stories reveal themselves,
songs are made up or remembered
spirits are dancing around us.
potatoes are cooked in foil,
hot cocoa sipped
slowly, or not.
embers are red and hot
at the end of sticks.
the heat on our faces,
the smell of fire in our hair and clothes…
the night draws in early
and we stay out in the dark
sat around an autumn fire
trying to hold the warmth of summer back
in our bare hands,
trying to make it stay longer…
tonight feels like a summer night
even if Samhain is just round the corner,
regardless of the season
The fire never, ever…
quite goes out.
