Fireside Melancholia

A fingernail moon, like a pearl slivered in sandy tide, surrsurrates on indigo velvet towards the horizon. The cries of deaf children fall on my deaf ears, but their handclaims are orangely loudbright in the firelight. Wave after wave of heat gloams from the burning bright and envelopes my sad stature, diverging occassionally to flee the cool night winds. A softly dark shape followed by a bright smile like the moon tumbledowning sits next to me and my low moment becomes a nervous, tentative joy. Time’s affront is forgotten… Quickly the ground is still, the playthud of adolescent feet zephyred away from the febrile hill down the path towards the cabin comfort of exhaustion’s sleep. Alone once more, I stump a three-legged gait down the hill to follow into sodium vapor glare.


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