We gather in an open meadow in the cool night air around a fire on a night when the moon’s so bright it casts a shadow.
I used to feel like I was back in the forest, the smell of smoke a nearby memory, the inviting cackles coming from a distance. The light of the fire and moon so obscured by the trees, I had to feel my way through the branches, get poked in the face a few times.
Now I stand in the circle, stoking the licking flames, stirring their heat as I would a cauldron. We dance and kick, we loose ourselves the world awhile.
And tomorrow, when we return to the churn, we smile coyly whenever we catch a scent of the lingering smoke in our hair.