Be comfortable, creature, and ride the wind

He spun as if a child beneath the twilight of darkened lights, mixed between north and south, doused in yellow. Back and forth he moved. Cars raced on either side of him, yet he danced in tribal ceremony. The fire to his left, people caked in reds, blues, green paints to his right. His loved ones, his people, united, he, himself, merged in symphony. Great lunges. It didn’t matter that cars raced by, that plastic bags circled his figure with great speed, that people smiled in condescension, that they laughed, that he danced. He smiled great, and he was there in that moment with the wind, the colors, the life that dimmed in so many. He was a child spinning beneath yellow sunlight and he smiled great. And he was home.