It was a starless night.

The mountains stood jagged, tearing at the night’s dark sapphire fabric with their coarse teeth; they were imposing and intimidating.

Their sightless eyes stared at every boulder, upturned every rock and scrutinized each and every animal within miles of their unseeing gaze, frightening the lesser creatures caught in their shadows.

A speedy flurry of amber sparks lit up the stony walls of the mountains’ feet. They soon vanished.

Above, a violet, full moon hung in the firmaments, showering the world below in petals of mauve light.

The tinkling sound of the cymbals latched to the tambourine rode through the summer zephyr, dancing to their own mad tune as they whirled their way to the heavens.

The bonfire crackled merrily, its golden terpsichorean watching as more fires dotted the vast hillsides.

Flame and fire! the little voices cried, their songs and odes unheard; they fall on deaf ears.

We dance till the morn! The morrow shall be fair.

Still they speak and go unnoticed.