Post by Hope Ridd on Dec 10, 2006 12:46:51 GMT -5
Hope made her way out onto the beach in her old fashioned nightgown, holding a torch. It was white, loose, and billowing in the wind of the calm night, but she had tied a silky, navy blue ribbon around her waist, trimming her figure down noticably. Her soft, naturally curly fiery red hair hung in loose ringlets around her pale, heartshaped face. Moonlight caressed her porcelin skin, her cheeks rosy. She smiled to herself as she reached a large pile of wood that she had known about for a while. She threw the torch she was holding onto it. Instantly, the wood caught fire, a brilliant conflaguration of red, orange and yellow. It washed over her moon-lit face, making her glow. She could hear birds calling out all around her. The most melancholy sound in all of nature. Her foot began to tap, and before she knew it, she was dancing wildly around her bonfire. With a bottle of rum in her hand, she took a swallow of it and begun spinning around. She opened her mouth, swaying around and around, her red hair blowing back in the salty sea wind. She began to sing loudly, clearly and beautifully:
Bonfires dot the rolling hillsides.
Figures dance around and around
to drums that pulse out echoes of darkness;
moving to the pagan sound.
Somewhere in a hidden memory
images float before my eyes
of fragrant nights of straw and of bonfires,
dancing till the next sunrise.
I can see the lights in the distance
trembling in the dark cloak of night.
Candles and lanterns are dancing, dancing
a waltz on all souls night.
Figures of cornstalks bend in the shadows
held up tall as the flames leap high.
The Green Knight holds the holly bush
to mark where the old year passes by.
Bonfires dot the rolling hillsides.
Figures dance around and around
to drums that pulse out echoes of darkness;
moving to the pagan sound.
Standing on the bridge that crosses
the river that goes out to the sea.
The wind is full of a thousand voices;
they pass by the bridge and me.
Bonfires dot the rolling hillsides.
Figures dance around and around
to drums that pulse out echoes of darkness;
moving to the pagan sound.
Bonfires dot the rolling hillsides.
Figures dance around and around
to drums that pulse out echoes of darkness;
moving to the pagan sound.
Somewhere in a hidden memory
images float before my eyes
of fragrant nights of straw and of bonfires,
dancing till the next sunrise.
I can see the lights in the distance
trembling in the dark cloak of night.
Candles and lanterns are dancing, dancing
a waltz on all souls night.
Figures of cornstalks bend in the shadows
held up tall as the flames leap high.
The Green Knight holds the holly bush
to mark where the old year passes by.
Bonfires dot the rolling hillsides.
Figures dance around and around
to drums that pulse out echoes of darkness;
moving to the pagan sound.
Standing on the bridge that crosses
the river that goes out to the sea.
The wind is full of a thousand voices;
they pass by the bridge and me.
Bonfires dot the rolling hillsides.
Figures dance around and around
to drums that pulse out echoes of darkness;
moving to the pagan sound.
