By The Campfire Poem by Fred Rik Kesner

'by the campfire'


Someone starts a fire at the edge of evening,
a small brightness gathering its own circle.
People arrive without planning,
drawn by its warmth
and the easy way dusk flutters around it.

For a while,
the group feels shaped by the glow —
voices low,
faces softened,
each person finding a place
as if chosen by each gentle moment.

But the night shifts.
One rises and steps away,
another follows after a quiet pause.
The circle thins,
not from sorrow,
just a natural drift
that happens when the world keeps moving.

Those who stay adjust their seats,
letting the space breathe,
letting the fire keep its centre
asking barely more from it.

Later, someone returns,
another arrives new,
and the circle opens again
as if this clearing were meant
for arrivals and departures alike.

When the fire settles into its last glow,
the final few stand
and walk back into the dark,
each carrying warmth in their own way,
knowing this gathering lived
exactly the length it needed.







.