The night grew hollow with every passing hour. As the black deepened, the air grew colder. The wind and the leaves whispered together, the stars peering down and trying to listen to their hushed conversation. I shuddered, wondering where the moon went.
My friends beside me were loud and boisterous, a shocking disturbance in the otherwise silent world. We smelled of campfire and off bugspray, a delightful combination. The intoxicating atmosphere hindered our awareness, and we were vulnerable victims of whatever predator lurked about us.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Summer Nostalgia
The golden tongues of flame lick the wood, curling underneath the diminishing logs. Heat radiates, expanding ever outward towards the horizon and beyond. The gray smoke spirals around my face, its scent lingering on my shirt and in my hair. I've never smelt anything better.
The marshmallow that alights on my metal prong before me melts, getting gooier that one could have hoped. Quickly, so that it doesn't blacken, I blow away the fire, casting it out of existence. As I slide the marshmallow onto the graham cracker and smother it with chocolate and another cracker, I look up and I catch your eye. You grin at me and throw your arms up to the sky.
The young man sitting beside me is playing a guitar, and I recognize the melody he picks up easily. As the group begins to sing along, the first glowing ball of fire is catapulted, where it explodes into colorful, burning stars that disperse into a black, velvet sky.
The sound of freedom is close at hand, the cacophony thrown about the lake and echoing off the shores, like thunder.
My hunger for summer is strong, and I long for its warm embrace of opportunity.
The marshmallow that alights on my metal prong before me melts, getting gooier that one could have hoped. Quickly, so that it doesn't blacken, I blow away the fire, casting it out of existence. As I slide the marshmallow onto the graham cracker and smother it with chocolate and another cracker, I look up and I catch your eye. You grin at me and throw your arms up to the sky.
The young man sitting beside me is playing a guitar, and I recognize the melody he picks up easily. As the group begins to sing along, the first glowing ball of fire is catapulted, where it explodes into colorful, burning stars that disperse into a black, velvet sky.
The sound of freedom is close at hand, the cacophony thrown about the lake and echoing off the shores, like thunder.
My hunger for summer is strong, and I long for its warm embrace of opportunity.
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