Midwinter

The bonfire beckons.
The pale winter sun has left us wanting,
Hungry for brightness and warmth.
The tall flames speak to us of light.
The thick, resinous scent of evergreen
Greets our senses as we approach.
 
A branch shifts, making room
and a pile of pine boughs
Cascades into the flames
Snapping and popping
Emitting swirls of red comets
Spiraling up to hiss upon the tree tops.
 
We watch the embers’ flight,
Until our reverence is drawn off
By a somber wolf, bemoaning our warmth.
Her momentary solo, soon a chorus
Her scattered pack joining together
To admonish our interruption of the night.