I’ve been meaning to get organised and get a brazier for years, and yesterday I decided to get onto it. We had to go to three shops, because they have already cleared them out to make way for the palm-tree motif cane lounges and neon pink beach umbrellas (I did mention it is Queensland, right?), but my tenacity, and Nathan’s patience paid off, with a Big W jackpot.

A fire-pit, no less.  We could be on Renovation Rescue, or whatever that shit was.

We stoked up the fire, found appropriate sticks, ripped open the marshmallows, chucked the kids some sushi for tea, and settled in for an evening of staring at the embers.

Faces hot, backs cold.

Icy cold beers from the bar-fridge slaking our parched throats.  (After all, we were being all outdoorsy.)

We live near the beach, and I guess it is still the ‘burbs, but sitting by our fire, we could’ve been anywhere.  But the fire held us right here.  In the present.

We watched the Evening Star come out, and made silent wishes.

A bat flew by, in that creepy, almost silent, way they have.  Just a soft rustle of those strange fleshy-sounding wings.

A possum made it’s way across the power lines to forage on the other side of the street (and then shit itself and nearly fell off when I tried to take a pic for my Instagram).

And we sat and we stared and we talked and we watched the fire go down, until all there was, was the ashes. And the Ashers.

Just me and him.  Him and me.  Just how it’s meant to be.

Do you have a fire-pit?

What was your Saturday night like?