Dancing in the Alpenglow

We sit by the fire, fixated on the embers, talking the night away. Fireweed halfway blooming frame the night sky and simultaneously make me want to enjoy each day, every hour of it, to exhaustion to fill the short summer with everything I can, but also take a moment to bask in it, the long nights and days, like we all did as children lying in the grass watching the clouds go by with friends until it got just dark enough that the threat of mom yelling at us for coming home past dark lured us back. The Sound moves in circles behind us, an abstract reflection of the mountains turn to zebra stripes. I'm reminded of summers camping on the beach, our annual pilgrimage, sea gulls calling in the distance, sand in my hair for weeks until the first day of school came and I finally had to clean the summer grime off. Somehow the green spruce trees on the hillside turn golden in the evening light, a magic shift that only happens at dusk. Mom and I used to sit on the porch swing, nights filled with laughter, we loved it when it rained, but our favorite was watching the evening light cloak the mountains. The sun would never really set, and we'd dare each other to stay up all night. The fire smolders, ashes settle in the ring. First we heard the music, then we saw them; a kayaker paddles by playing Dancing in the Moonlight. We locked eyes and laughed because no one else heard the music but us. But tonight, it's just me dancing in the alpenglow like we used to, and I can't help but think of home.