We awake blinking, wipe the sleep for out eyes, and adjust to the quiet. Just beyond our resting place a bonfire burns, the crack of logs breaking the the night. Great thin trees lance upwards into the sky, or where you might think a sky would be if not for the flurry of branches that block out the stars.
Approaching the fire we see we are alone but for the footprints and pottery of past visitors. For a while, we sit warming ourselves, and by chance we look up. Here and here alone in this dark and endless forest we see them, pinpricks of light, where heaven pokes through.
After some time, too long a time to remember we rise, morning is not coming we realize, the dark is pervasive, permanent and real. We venture to a pile of logs nearby, and put one on the fire before heading out into that vast and unknowable darkness, seeking fires that may or may not exist, hoping that the fire can burn a little longer, and that maybe in some other form we might find it again.