Bonfire Night

It’s that time of year again. The Autumn Bonfire approaches.

The mornings are frosty, the sun weaker and yellow.

The leaves turning red and orange and brown like a child’s painting, falling like burnt snow from naked trees.

Shivering on the way to school. Breath like a dragon’s steam.

The bonfire being made again, piled up high as a house. Growing larger as the town’s people come and contribute with wood and leaves from their back yards.

Growing, feed by their love and hope and anticipation.

The bonfire- their symbol of Autumn. Their symbol of hope.

Because even during that terrible month of flooding and storms, the Bonfire still burnt. The people still came out of their houses and let the heat melt away their worries.

Soon, now, it will burn: the huge inferno, so hot your face seems to melt. Then the Fair will come to town, and the mighty Tar Barrels.

All of this is ahead of us. We have only to wait, and watch, and look foward to.

Bonfire Night approaches. The leaves fall, yellowed by age, to be raked up and added to the bonfire.

Watch as it grows. Children, smile and hold your mothers hand- do you know why?

Because it’s that time of year again. It’s the Autumn Bonfire.