Beltane

She calls it the Beltane: this raging column of heat so big it blocks the neighbouring farm from view.

Alone in the field, she is feeding the remaining twigs and pine cones into the flames, her soft spot for ritual flaring. A hangover from her staunchly Catholic upbringing, perhaps: this want to imbue everyday things with a solemn, weighty significance. Or maybe it’s just hunger for a familiar thing, anything