The woods seemed to shift and move from the shadows of the near hundreds of people who were drinking, laughing and celebrating in the humid summer night. I’d never heard of someone renting out an entire campground, but they had; and as the first fire pit broke out into flames and everyone around began to dance it was clear it was a good idea. As I made my way back from nature’s urinal I was given a Roman candle by a man who was handing the colourful explosive out like food stamps. I appreciated the gesture but was in no state to operate something that could potentially remove a digit.

Then you slid out from the dark of the trees and I passed it off to you. Your eyes grew wide with childlike worry and wonder and you asked sincerely: “Should I?” It was then that a disco ball was turned on in the back of a pick-up and the perimeter of conifers were blanketed in flashing blues and greens. I remembered the handful of mushrooms we’d eaten earlier as your saucered pupils waited for an answer. “Nah, you shouldn’t.” I said and took the firework back and we walked towards the lights.