A Bonfire in Coyote-Jupiter-Autumn

The month of October has so far been a standoff between the weather and me. I never dreamed I'd still be living in the camper at this late date, but the weather has been heavenly for the last two weeks.
Jupiter is unbelievable. Every night it burns with a bright and beautiful light, confident as a pearl. Coyotes yowl and yip as soon as it gets dark and I'm coming to enjoy it, though a part of me still finds it very creepy. It also makes me want to grab my spear and a flaming torch and run through the deep woods to the south, where the forest belt stretches for miles and miles, all the way into the States. Then I would climb a maple and let them howl away, all around me, their eyes lit up like lanterns.
Yesterday my brother and I planted some trees, mostly birch, and then built a bonfire in the woods. My nephew and I had built up a traditional teepee-structure of tinder and kindling, but Kyle came along and said no, the box form is better. Soon we had a jolly, modern-art sort of blaze going, with levels of little fires burning geometrically. Eventually we spoiled the shape by just piling brush on top.
My sister-in-law came with a flashlight and the other kids, the baby fussing in her arms but eventually quieting, and we stood around while the sky grew darker and the stars appeared, and a crescent moon shone beautifully through the trees. My nephews were thrilled; they haven't seen much of stars during the summer but now it's getting dark before their bedtime.
Moths fluttered sacrificially into the flames. There was a fierce hissing and I told the boys it was the fire snakes while Kyle gave the scientific explanation, but of course they clung to my story with glee. Fire snakes!
My (nearly) two year old niece was mesmerized, not having seen a bonfire before, and kept blowing gently, her finger to her lips. That's one big candle! “'Parks, 'parks!” she said wonderingly whenever her father stirred the fire and sent up sheets of sparks. This had the unpleasant side-effect of raining a fine ash down on Laura and the baby, situated downwind.
We heard the faintest, far-off music which the neighbourhood dogs mostly drowned out with their barking. They were going bonkers and I wanted to drug their meat. Seriously, dogs who bark all night are maladjusted and need to be either shot or sent to Cesar Milan's rehab centre.
Eventually the others had to leave, the children needing to get to bed, and I stayed until the fire died down into a thick bed of embers. Once or twice I heard an animal moving through the brush and shone my flashlight around and then went closer to the fire. The smoke billowed bright against the darkness. A few more moths dragged themselves through the mud and into the embers, igniting. Just as the last shadow-casting light flickered out, I heard a few faint coyote-cries, but they weren't coming nearer so I wasn't afraid. But finally I left the coals winking in the wet mud and went to wash the smoke and wildness from me.