Scorching faces, freezing bums.
The Gunpowder Plot 1605.
An effigy in your old jumper writhes and tumbles into the orange where ghosts of older blazes tangle in the smoke.
As you gather half-hot and brave against the shadows, invisible eyes are watching from the inky chill.
The darkness behind you is so dense it could drown you:
suck you under.
Until the final firework plunges dead into mud, pull your coat tighter and cling to the power of your sparklers, pyrotechnic peonies and twinkling rain.
Clutch mittened hands and stay by the fire, safe in the magic of Bonfire Night.