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.

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