A daily ritual. Lighting the wood stove and watching the little flames grow. From a glow of last nights embers to ragged flames.
From the fireside I think about how this year I rekindled a little fire. It was just glowing embers. I went outside and gathered little dry twigs. I started to think it’d never light. The embers had been left too long. But leaning in and blowing gently on them I heard a crackle and smelt smoke. Warming my cold face, I rushed to find bigger branches to feed it. Sweet resin soaked incense filled the air.
Secret smoke signals curled up the chimney and out into the sky. I’d reached this little unknown community of us sitting in our homes lighting fires and sending smoke signals upwards into darkness. Tiny sparks in the sky. Drifting down to land in the hair of anyone patiently waiting to catch fire.