I went to see Belfast’s bonfires last night before they burned. It was raining and daylight was fading and most of the sites were still deserted.
On the Shankill, a cat guarded the pyre; the children’s fire burned for no one in particular up in the Oldpark; on Sandy Row, happy hardcore wafted about near empty wasteland. The party was still elsewhere, making its lazy way to midnight and the flames. I was bored and tired and low.
But then at Donegall Pass, I found an entire universe had been recruited for the burning, a galaxy had been left lying open for a gander before it got lit: