Upon bonfire night, the frisson of pure joy we felt upon seeing those flames, we kids were all rockstars, every one of us.
Upon one night of the year, the bonfire was lit; for all the others we contented ourselves bring it alive in our dreams.
The bonfire brought such golden light, a bonny echo to the stars.
Being at the bonfire was a real-life storybook adventure, the kind you wish you were living in.
The fire came to light up the night, to warm air that was more accustomed to the winter chill. It lit each face and they felt the heat go to their core. Then as the night became day, as the stars blended into the blue, they could choose to recall the warmth or only see cold ashes.
We are roasted from the front, frozen from behind - the bonfire cooking us gently and the November wind reminding us that winter isn't far away. There is something about the flame that renders us without smiles, yet content, the echoes of the hearth perhaps.
The bonfire went supernova creating our very own sun for a night.
The bonfire was a flower of flame that opened heavenward, generous in golden sparks.