Long after dinner was done and the coals in the kettle barbeque gone nearly cold, we stoked them back up again and toasted American marshmallows over the low flames on fondue forks scavenged resourcefully from a kitchen drawer.
Hovering too close for comfort over glowing briquettes, fingers and tongues both burnt willingly on molten globs of sugar. The scrape of the spade across the grate, making golden splinters of light fly in every direction. The unique, peculiar sound of a marshmallow, burning. (Have you ever sat and listened to a marshmallow, burning? It's fantastic.)
Overhead a million million stars glittered in the night sky, like a massive firework whose sparks have never stopped falling toward us. And I thought to myself: I am happy. In this moment, I am as near to happy as I have ever been.