Firepit Gathered in the womb of light, under the stars we gaze at fire. In the circle words crackle: how a forest speaks to itself, leaf to root to synapse shoot – the magic of it, the many, the one. Over embers we toast marshmallows, toast life in the afterglow. And then we go as fire fades into the night – born into a different, brighter darkness than the one from which we came.
Dominic Palmer grew up near Oxford and studied at the University of Cambridge, which means he never fails to vicariously win (or lose) the annual Boat Race. He now lives in Manchester with his wife, teaches English in a secondary school, and enjoys cycling, gardening, and playing music.
Amethyst Review 