The bonfire crackled and danced under the vast Wyoming sky as my friends and I gathered around its warm embrace. A weekend of fellowship was had. The evening air, crisp but pleasant. The usual wind, nowhere to be found. We took turns roasting hotdogs and marshmallows, laughing as some turned golden brown while others, inevitably, met a fiery demise.

The scent of smoke and toasted sugar filled the air, mingling with the quiet snorts of the horses that had joined us. They stood just outside the circle of firelight, their large, gentle eyes reflecting the flickering flames as they observed our little gathering. Their presence added something special to the night — an almost mystical touch, as if they had come to share in the moment.

Conversation ebbed and flowed, sometimes lively, sometimes soft and reflective. Campfire stories were told, as were cringeworthy dad jokes. The fire held us together. Its warmth not just physical but something deeper — a reminder of friendship, of simple joys, and of nights like this that stay in your memory long after the embers have cooled.