Darkness falls as we leave the sun behind us.

A fire is lit and there’s a tiny island of warmth and light.

People walk out of the dark woods and stand next to our fire.

We see their faces and they leave their footprints in the sand.

When they are gone, only a memory remains for us.

A fading afterimage burned into our brain by orange glow.

Softening impressions of their steps in the ever changing sand.

We feed wood into the fire, sparking the memories back to flame.

We feel their warmth again, we see a blurry reminder of their face.

In the end, we always run out of fuel for the fire.

It wanes in the darkness, the footprints disappear, and we’re left with embers and ash.

Sunk into that lonely dark, we feel the first shivers of cold and night takes us back.

The pitch recedes to a blooming dawn, a brilliant display of the sun.

All around us, in every direction, are those people who we thought had left.

They stand and smile, welcoming us into the light and our new world.

It’s warm again.