The Moon

I love the feel of wind massaging my skin, a fire with it's snake tongues lashing in waves and the stars with no moon to suppress their light.  

Face down, forehead on my arms I let the beams of thousands of years whisper their adventures as they cascade at this rest stop before they go for however long light can reach.  

The fire has always been kind to me even if it is consuming its fuel at a fascinating rate.  If you are what you eat then this fire was made from the trees I cared for, tried to nurse back to health, but eventually became too old or sick to continue on.  They became ripe and rotted until we admitted, finally, that the tree with no leaves in spring would not come back and took it down before it fell onto the house.  

This pyre is half mourning for the friend that provided apricots and shade and half rejoicing for the warmth and the return of a trees elements to grow another.  

The wind is soft and lovingly wraps around my bare form making a coat of warm breath around me and turns like a cat to play with ash and sparks twirling them in a spiral offering them up to the stars as tribute or to add another story to their timeless travel.  

I love this place of wind, fire and starlight; my backyard.