Fingertips touching, never leaving, they dance.
Round the circle ringed with stones, embers glowing, wind blowing, they move.
Hair whipping, voices crackling, they sing.
Calling for the flames to grow, fire curling, stars fading, they twirl.
Towering bonfire casting shadows…shifting…
Faces alight, flickering rust and gold…features rearranging…
They are ancient. Forgotten. Lifeless.
They are born. Pulsing. Alive.
On the damp beach, atop the cliff, in the forest, the desert, the mountains, marshes, plains, valleys…
They are everywhere and nowhere. They are here.
To this place. Our home.
Fingertips touching. Dancing on our bones. Frolicking through the ruins.
November 17, 2016 prompt: Fire – In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that is told around a campfire. It can be a bonfire, burning trash can, a fire pit, something flaming outdoors. Who is gathered and listening?