The sky is alive

It smells like night

Crickets chirp from juniper trees

The breeze is warm

Stars dazzle my eyes

Hours spent counting meteorites

and moving chairs

around the fire

Making spark people

for the dogs to chase

Cold sips of a malty

craft brew

Long, deep discussions

Comfortable quiet pauses

while night hawks

chase mosquitoes overhead

Warm waves of perfume

from vining petunias

and night blooming stocks

A search for more wood

The fire must last

until the crickets

go to sleep

and the Morning Star is in the East