It was bonfire night! The winters were delightfully cold and the warmth from flames was equally welcome. As the sparks flew into the night sky like orange-gold stars in the hope to meet their diamond brethren, the flames crackled and danced away in celebration of this star-studded night. The winter chill sizzled as the golden halo spread heat on our palms and in our hearts. The fiery orange in our backyard made it seem like the sun had settled in there instead of disappearing behind the mountains.
Dad chopped the branch of fir into twigs with precise rhythmic swings of his axe.
Mother set up chopping boards and sliced potatoes into thick circular wedges, wrapped them in foils along with sweet snow peas and tossed them into the bonfire. How my brothers and I loved roast potatoes as midnight suppers. Our faces had lit up with the frisson of pure joy on that starry December night. It was a wild night, a night of adventure.
We weren't affluent enough, so we spread out sleeping bags on the porch and the lawn and pretended we were out on a camping trip in the woods or by the lake. The snow-peaked mountains in the distance stood mute witness and sentinel to our camaraderie and bonhomie until the first rosy rays of dawn shimmered beyond…
The flickering embers of the logs that had looked like fire-fairies igniting the roaring flames, had taken a courtesy bow and turned into drab grey cinder ash and silvery dust.
I knew deep down in my heart that these would be mere memories and somewhere down the line, would curate many nostalgically steeped writings.
©️ Sangeetha Kamath
Pic Courtesy:Image by Jim Cooper from Pixabay
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