The fire danced like lively silhouettes across our faces as we sipped our cold, cheap beer with frozen fingertips. The laughter in the air was as thick and rich as the dropping temperatures that were slowly creeping up on us. Everyone was smiling and they were drunk, or almost drunk, but happy. Definitely happy.
So many friendly faces showed up throughout the night at the first bonfire we had ever had at our house. I sat in silence sometimes to just take it all in- our cats stalking the shadows, Claude running through the bushes after them, the stars shining brightly in the clear night sky, the scent of roasted marshmallows and store brand bought gram crackers- it reminded me of camping with my family, and the universal joy it brought all of us. Something about the fire brought out the warmth in everybody, or maybe it was just the thick coats, colorful scarves, or comfortable boots. Whatever it was, the night was young, even two hours after midnight.
We were ready to keep going, keep the energy alive until we ran it dry, because it was October, and we had a fire and there were tires to sit on and beer to drink and stories to share and s'mores to eat and hands to hold and faces to see and laughter to echo and time to be passed, carefully.
"There was life to be lived", said the fire, still burning the following day when we stirred our sore bodies awake hours after sunrise.
