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Firelight
Firelight is magical. Dancing over the logs in the fire we watch it almost silently.
The lamplight on the table illuminates perhaps too many bottles of white wine, the condensation coating their outsides.
“Next time”, says K about the promise of toasting marshmallows, not that either of us is hungry after a long leisurely meal outside.
After all the rushing around this week this is the first time I have sat still in ages. It’s just what I need, that and one final glass of wine.
