Fire walk with me

There is something quite Lynchian about a bonfire in the back garden. Maybe it's the unexpectedness of a great big blazing fire in the middle of an ordinary suburban garden. There is certainly something a little spooky about seeing everyday objects transformed by flickering flames and wobbling shadows.

 

We had a whole heap of dead branches, leaves and thorns building up by the back wall just crying out for a good burning. So while my in laws were over, Big M and his father took charge of setting light to the garden rubbish. His dad manned the hose, while Big M poured a cocktail of accelerants over the pile. The rest of us stood well back with baited breath.

 

I thought the hedge across the back was going to catch and I was torn between thinking "Yipee! Finally rid of that montrosity!" and "Oh my goodness! The neighbours will skin us alive!"

Fortunately the garden and house escaped unsinged.

The children were fascinated and unnerved in equal measure. And I loved how different and magical the garden looked at night.