Fire

Spent a few days in the countryside. The rain is incessant and is very cold. My intended trips to the hills surrounding this village are not going to materialize, so I read, rest and read. And started the backyard oven, old style. I watched the birth of the minute flame and helped it become a roaring fire. It was a good feeling, it was rewarding somehow. I called upon the fire to be my mate that day, to talk to me about warmth and sun and beautiful days ahead. Felt better, felt recharged, felt like the cold rain wasn't even there anymore.

The fire is now old, only a few embers are still flickering through the ashes. Not young anymore, not yet gone. One could say that it outlived its purpose, but all it takes is a faint breeze to bring it back to life. In the end, it is no more, and it goes where all good fires go when they go. Rain is falling cold and, with a smile, I fondly remember the moments when that little fire was a promising roaring one, with so much to give and so short a life.
 

Minox IIIs with Rollei 80s.