This was a short piece I wrote for one of our bonfire invitations years ago. It’s a favorite of mine for a number of reasons. I hope you like it as well.
“Is it time already?” Rowan fussed with the moss flowers tied in her braids.
Rowan always fussed.
“It is.” Crow craned his neck forward and peered into the twilight darkness. “The Man has built the fire nest.”
“He has been building it all year,” the Chulain croaked. His voice was the sound of old wood creaking in the wind; his form, a thicket of brush, potent with secrets. “How is today any different?”
“Check the Signs,” Crow sighed. “The Woman has tended the Lawn. Their nymphs have cleared the Ways. They are bringing forth the Tables.” He gave a flick of his wing, then preened to show how unconcerned he was. “It is time.”
“Is it though?” Rowan nudged the bundle of twigs at her feet. “I have prepared. Oak, and holly, and wild rose. We are gathered.” There was a rustle from behind her. A murmur of agreement as things unseen stirred beneath the fallen leaves.
She bit her lip. “It has been a hard year for them. Will He still…?”
Crow clacked his beak in rebuke. “He always does. Have faith.”
Rowan fidgeted. Rowan always fidgeted.
“But why?” She finally burst out.
There was a sigh of a breeze. The leaves rustled like soft applause.
Crow winked at Rowan, the closest he could get to a smile.
“And there is the Question,” he intoned. “The final Sign.” He cocked his head at the sprite. “You know the why of it, tiny one.”
Rowan blushed, and cast her eyes down before she murmured, “Fellowship.”
“Charity, which is love,” breathed the Chulain.
“Grace,” the wind seemed to whisper.
“Just so,” said Crow. “Just so.” He settled down. “Let us wait together.”
He stood by the fire, listening to the last goodbyes in the distance. There was a sound of tires on gravel, fading into silence. Then the soft sound of footsteps on grass as she came to stand next to him.
She was smiling. “Good night?”
“Yeah.” He looked around. “Everything cleaned up? Dogs in?”
“All done. The girls and their friends helped.” She put her arm around him, laid her head on his shoulder and snuggled in. They shared the dying bonfire for a few moments, watching the occasional flame flicker among the orange coals.
She straightened up, took his hand. “Come on. Time for bed.”
“No!” Rowan’s cry squeaked between the hands clasped over her mouth. Her eyes were wide. “He didn't…”
Crow stirred, spoke. His tone brooked no dissent. “Wait.”
The Chulain reached out. His touch was light against Rowan’s face, spiderwebs in the dark.
“Have faith, sweet one,” he whispered. “Charity. Charity never fails.”
Rowan stared at the Man, trembling.
He smiled. “Sounds like a plan.” He looked over the fire once more, then raised his eyes to the darkness.
“All yours, guys. Enjoy.”
Wind sighed through the pines. There was a rustling of leaves as they turned to leave the fire.
“Why do you do that?” she asked.
He shrugged, smiled. “You never know.”
“YES!” Rowan bounced in place. “HE SAID IT!” She threw her arms around Crow and gave him a fierce, hard hug.
She always did.
Crow wrapped one wing around her, feathers soft. “Yes. He did.”
The Chulain unfolded up into the night, creaking as he went. “How does he know?”
“He doesn’t.” Crow looked back at the rustling leaves. “And yet, he does.” Crow stood tall and spread his wings. “Come, all. We are Invited. It would be rude not to share his fire.”