the very first

When I look back at that night, the very first thing to reappear is the skirt I wore. I hear once more the satisfying swish of sheer fabric and the sensation of a long hem tickling my ankles. The skirt sways in my memory, dancing to the guitars and voices. Then, I remember my bare toes, tapping beneath. The evening returns piece by piece. I stood in line for face paint to request stars and swirls on my arm. There were blankets to cover the grassy patch which we had claimed; for lying down and watching the sky blend into dusk; for gazing at lanterns that grew brighter by the moment. Our own lanterns were dark gold and blew out before the sun had gone. I was lying, grounded, with my feet in the grass, but floating up. 

When I look back at that night, the last thing that comes to mind is the shape of the pillow as I dropped to sleep afterwards, the faded colours of glowing stars and swirling lines still visible on my skin.