The light shone bright. Guidance in the night. The fey danced in the trees, offering specs of colours and wonder to the humans clustered around a bonfire telling tales. The adults winked at each other as they toyed with their miniatures. A knowing joke – fairies not real. The youth pointed into the dark with delight seeing more than their elders. They aren’t called the little people for nothing. A shame they grow up, the inner-child wandering lost. The real rib-tickler; we tease and play with the ignorance; move their keys, make their dogs bark. We dance in the dark, beyond mature eyes.