February 15, 2015


When at the first the wood is laid, it burns fast and bright, leaping into tall, explosive flames, even as the pit below remains hollow and cool.

Before long that first wood is gone, incinerated by the heat of the fire's beginnings. More wood is needed, harder wood this time, for it will burn slower. The flame is lower now. It rocks back and forth above the pit, rather than running full speed up the draft. It will last. 

Now the fire is old and the night is wearing on. The flames barely kiss the air. But deep in the pit, inch upon smoldering inch of hot red embers burn, hotter even than the fire used to be.


He really did build me a valentine fire. He knows me so well. I'd rather have this than all the long-stemmed roses in the world.

And just in case any of the kids woke up and couldn't find us, we left them a note:)