I took no pictures. I admit it, no photographic evidence--from me, at least--will be seen from the Tiki Night in Steelhead. Not because I didn't want to commemorate, but because I was having far too much fun--first dancing with the group, my mix of bellydance moves and post-sixties romping perfectly matched by the surf music served up by DJ Ortega, and then dancing with a lovely young fellow in Polynesian silks, twirling a fire stick.
And I spoke with the demon. As the dance ended, and his duties hosting left, he moved to the far side of the Kokopelli stage, sitting at one of the cafe tables, watching the young fellow and I spin in stately circles around each other. We talked of love, and loss...nostalgia, and living in the past...memories, hopes and fears.
He seemed...changed. He told me, no more games. No more interfering with others I choose to love. No more tricks. He seemed...subdued, quiet, the spark that powered him perhaps irretrieveably subdued.
And then he left, fire-eyes, horns and all vanishing in a burst of displaced air, and the young fellow and I kept dancing.
The dawn rose, the morning advanced, the sunset glimmered, the night sky filled with stars...and still we danced.
At present...we still dance, staring into each others' eyes, circling each other, dance as subvocal communication.
I know eventually I must sleep, but...not now. Not yet. Let me pay for this moment tomorrow....I'm too thoroughly enjoying the now, right now.