This a continuation of Saturday night at Twisted Tryst...
Drums pounded a primal rhythm. A light rain started. We were called in by the drums to a gathering circle of people around a dead tree piled all around with firewood and kindling. Hearing the drums at night is a primal feeling. It takes me back to how our caveman ancestors must have felt as they geared up for a great celebration, or perhaps an inspiration on the eve of a hunt or battle with their enemies. The blood pumps in rhythm with the drums. My feet moved on their own to pound the rhythm on to the ground.
Someone was dumping kerosene all over the huge pile of dead wood. Ok, not how the cavemen would have done it, but hey, times change. A match is struck and the one holding it looks engulfed in flames as he jumps back from the huge fireball. The wishes written on paper by campers and tied to the tree are carried up in the smoke to whatever heavens one believes in. Including mine. I'm not really thinking about my wish though. The drums and the fire and the sparks raining down on us are hammering at me at a gut level, not a wishing/thinking level.
We stand and watch for a long time, until the rain begins to get to us and we decide to seek out somewhere dry. Off to the dungeon tent!