There’s something magical about a campfire on a cold and rainy night.
As it sizzles and crackles, lapping up log after log in its hunger, it fills the people surrounding it with a strange kind of warmth. The wind snakes through the embers, teasingly blowing smoke into the eyes of one person after the other, perfuming their clothes and hair with it, seems to blow away their inhibitions, too.
Someone breaks out into song, surprising everyone else with their unexpectedly sweet voice.
Someone’s romantic side comes to the fore, causing them to flirt naughtily with their partner.
Someone gets an insatiable urge for ghost stories.
Someone misses someone who is not with them, thinks the other person would have enjoyed the experience.
Someone has a faraway look in their eyes, probably pondering one of life’s many questions.
Someone is lost in a dream world, probably reliving a beautiful moment that has long since gone by.
Someone’s face is all warm and glowing golden in the light caused by it, bringing a certain softness, a certain vulnerability to them.
Someone spills the secrets in their heart.
Someone bonds just a little bit better with someone else.
Yes, there is something magical about campfires on a cold and rainy night.
The OH and I managed a brief escape to Chikkamagalooru with his family, over the Independence Day long weekend. I had my first campfire experience during our stay there and, boy, was it beautiful?!