The Bonfire

Robert E. Bear

     It was 9:08 p.m. The theater was softly lit as the full moon caressed the lake with its awakening. The stage was set and chairs positioned. The oak, willow, and cedar performers were poised, silently waiting for their cue to commence the command performance. All was ready; the ambience for a perfect production.

     With the motion of the sulfur-tipped baton in my hand, the entertainment began. Slowly, the unrehearsed golden dancers embarked on dazzling displays of leaping and pirouettes in synchronized undulations of radiance. Visual crescendos of intense passion ensued. No choreographer, past, present, or future, could have devised a cotillion so astounding! During the entire optical splendor, the scintillating embers provided the overture while the cool north breeze orchestrated the trees' background interludes.

    I settled in with a cup of hot tea and was joined by the feline family pet. From time to time, as the ballerinas mesmerized the audience of one, the four-legged companion on my lap silently demanded attention and I was not obliged but happy to give it. He sighed with contentment of gentle petting and I from affectionate reflections on a new found friend.

     Finally, an encore could no longer be coerced and the coals grew stoic and tacit. The performance had come to an unwelcome finale and only the beating of my heart applauded the exhibition. It was time for repose.