.. the effervescent glow deep in the woods, I would have gotten in the car and gone home. The twinkle of stars in the night sky, the whisper of the trees, the grass giving my steps a softer place, all was normal, including Patrice, my soul mate, my love, my heart and soul.
I swear she was born of thrushes and cherry blossoms. Her hair, braided into a pony tail that draped her back. Her skin, soft and warm, smooth as silk. And her eyes, aglow with the light of her soul, they would look at me and caress me as a lover would. She took my hand and tried to lead me to the car, said the night was done for us, we should leave this clearing and head home, as others before us had once the bonfire faded to embers.
It was a good night for a bonfire. The people of the town welcomed all, gathered the sacrificial wood, waited for the sun to find its bed, then lit it with a team of torches, one for each of the elders, and a few for the children. Then we sang into the night. We sang for the fire and for ourselves, rapturous joy embracing all, wives hugging their husbands, children romping in a circle. Merriment and rum floating everywhere there was an open mouth to receive its blessing. “The Autumn Solstice has come” cried one of the elders, a stout man of questionable fashion sense. “Let us say goodbye to the of Summer, and welcome the Fall like an old friend who has been gone far too long”.
Patrice and I joined in the antics, the singing, the drinking. We warmed ourselves in the fire, and in our love. We praised all who came, as they praised us. We whooped and hollered with the best of them. Now it was late, and as much as we wanted time to remain as it was, the festivities ended, leaving a trail of exhausted party goers that led to the car park.
For no other reason I looked back at the scene where we enjoyed ourselves so much, wanting to take these memories home with me, wanting to put them in a bottle for reminiscing, sitting on the couch, a fire in the hearth, and Patrice in my arms.
And here is where I have to stop. It was through a fit of inspiration that I started writing this, and as luck would have it, I need this for a writing competition. I will be more than happy to share the rest of this with you at a later date. Who knows, I might win it, and become a famous author. Or not, depending on how the wind blows. Wish me luck!
Arid Testimony 