The firelight echoed, not bright enough to shine.
A corner of fabric,
the metallic thread of a shoulder. Plenty of people faded into the shadows, black satin and velvet.
It was too warm for October but not too warm for the fire later in the night. Berries in the punch kept hitting my teeth, distracting me from conversations.
The whole evening I was reminded what it looked like to be. A collection of people all drawn to celebrate. It was a house warming party, dressed up as a witch with a side of humor and bloody babies. More than anything it was conversations, isn’t that what it always ends up being. Late into the night we sat by the fire or stood under eerie lights talking, listening, or just feeling the fire on our faces.
By the time I drove home I was tired, happy to have the BBC to keep me company.