Calachuchi's Early Evening

Almost imperceptibly, the twilight darkens, deepens into a moonlit evening. The calls of unseen cuckoos in the woods have died down. Still and silent, my shadow stands by the bonfire's smoldering ashes. Teasing whiffs of dancing smoke redden my sweaty face, urging me to awaken the embers, to stoke back to life the buried fire. Now serpertine flames wiggle on dry leaves, devouring wood, even lumps soft earth. Among fragrant calachuchi flowers, crickets chirp shrilly, no, sang, charmingly!