Fairy magic

Damp air, fog, golden trees, falling leaves, dark evenings, smoke. It's Autumn.

A boy stands in boots, his coat buttoned up to the neck with matching gloves and scarf wrapped tightly, eating a hot dog, eyes wide. His Daddy holds his hand as they watch in wonder. Fireworks in a blazing volley. Bright flashes lighting up their cold red cheeks.

The boy's small sister was too frightened, she doesn't like loud bangs, so she stays at home, baking with her Mummy. Together they wait in the warm with the lights on and the fire crackling against the cold and the dark, waiting for their boys to come home, full of excitement.

I don't know who the boy and his sister are and it's strange to imagine their life. Harry, Emily and I watch the distant fireworks from our top windows. "I reelly reelly don't like loud noises, Daddy. They're scary, but their are pretty. They look like fairy dusts," says Emily.