Cassandra Dychton

Orange flames grow taller as the twigs are thrown on. The flames lick the air around them like arms grabbing at the sky. I look around and see a campfire surrounded by my family and green grass and dark trees and happy dogs and the starry sky. Sticks with white puffy delights on the end of them go to the edge of the fire. Mmm, how I love roasting marshmallows by a campfire. I patiently hold a marshmallow in the fire while my dog Pepper sits by me loyally and waits for a sticky treat. Are we camping? No, the house is just beyond the light of the fire, yet it seems we are in the middle of nowhere, absorbing the heat from the magical yellow-orange source. The sound of crickets, murmurs of people, and the cracks of the fire surround me. Enjoying this night I am in complete peace. I don’t want to leave; I don’t want it to end. But the flames will calm, and then there will be only embers.