Sweet laughter waltzes around
the fires, the warmth of hearths
inviting darkness to sleep. Quiet
traces of foolishness calmly
shroud the night air, hazy smoke
arising from the embers. Singing
and dancing in sanctified light, the
tall oak trees whisper stories to
withered leaves, the vines carefully
sheltering innocent buds from boorish
chaos.
Shadows dance to time’s youth, their
pendulums swinging to the beats of
tambourines and drums, warm drinks
along the fray. Music abounds, with
fresh basil hanging from the
windows. The feast is here, and the
winter storm fiercely blows.
Ivory towers, through the wood,

castles from afar,

kings and queens and

knights and princesses,

with a dragon,

waiting to be slain;


But won’t you stay,

and play,

for just a little

while?

The fire blazes, crackles and snaps,
the women dance around its light,
while the men around, in the dark-
ling shadows, beat the drums to the
song of life.

Flutes sigh their trilling songs,
and strings dance and thrum and
blur, as the fiddle plays its wild
abandon, out, into the currents of
the night.

The wild boar is caught and spit,
its dripping fat, the flames do lick,
and now the call to feast and song,
to mead and meat and legend tall,
under the stars and the hunters
moon!