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.