If {by Laura Fraser}

If I had a home, I'd invite you all to come.


We'd go outside, light a fire, around which we'd stand, sit and lie. Some of us, would hold hands and some of us would not. But their hearts would burn, as if they were.

And we'd watch as the fire grew bigger, its flame flickering upwards. Our eyes would shine, glistening with the flame and slowly, slowly, we'd start moving. Our feet would be first. Stomping, stamping, our hands would tingle as we stood close to one another and as our hearts came alight, more of us would stand and reach out for another hand. 

And the flame would grow taller, warming the chill of the night and the stars would come out from the clouds and the rain would start to fall. So that as the earth started to weep, we'd continue. Standing, sitting, perhaps lying. Some of us holding hands and some of us, if hand holding isn't our thing, being brave enough to let our hearts roar all the same.

If I had a home, I'd say bring your children, bring your husband, wife, lover, partner, guru, sister, uncle, everyone. Bring everyone.

And the more that would come, the larger the flame that would burn. Every skin and every colour and every age and every tradition and every inclination would be there and more and more hands would be holding; because why not?

And as skin touches skin the cure would burn. And as the fire burned we'd begin to sing.

The children, who would be as welcome as the adults, would run amongst themselves. Safe. Gloriously wonderfully safe. And the women would stand, or sit and lie. A raging spark in their eyes. And men, the men would stand and maybe sit and maybe lie and tears would come for some of us. And as our voices roared into the night, the book of our feet would ripple down into the core of the earth. So that the vibrations ands pulsating of our motion and our movement, would go deep. And so the flame grows larger, the sky becomes warmer and more hands start to reach out for each other. So that as the ground is pounded with the soles of human feet, the earth rumbles in delight. 

We'd dance and sing like this throughout the night. Until suddenly after hours of dancing and singing and standing and sitting and lying down something booms.


We stop.
Pause.


Sweat drips.
Hearts pump.
The children have fallen asleep.


It's dusk.
The darkest hour...


No birds, nor voices can be heard. only the pulse and beat of the human breath and hearts thumping together.


The woman, that woman who'd walked away, sometimes after midnight, returns. In her arms she carries a baby. Two in fact. They are fresh. New.
People bring cushions and blankets together over the earth, giving her warm milky tea chai in a clay cup, there's halva and simple things like grapes to restore her body.
She lies down with her children in her arms. And everyone sits around and a silence falls.
It's dusk.
The darkest hour before dawn.

The weather, not yet predicted.

Thank you for reading!

if you enjoyed this, please consider sharing with your friends & family.

Also check out & like our Facebook page - www.facebook.com/lfraserwriting