We may reject the pop music of 20 years ago and chuckle about the pre-computer tools and in general separate ourselves from the olden days, but we return willingly to the ancient camp fires of a thousand nights ago.
The evening fire has been our ritual this month. We pull chairs close to the fire pit. Spitting embers provide most of the sound; there are no paragraphs. I remember an old church song “Day is dying in the west, Heaven is touching earth with rest…”
There may be snatches of review, but we don’t seek closure to the day. Having made a circle is quite enough.