The Odd Little Spark

Tonight there were only two of us at the bonfire on a very quiet August night.
Last week, at a different bonfire there were over a dozen adults plus an assortment of children on a not so quiet August night. The atmosphere at both bonfires was a concentration on the flames and the conversation flickered and fanned itself, dying out at times and then bursting up into little stories or commentaries, even small jokes, an update on the game running televised but unwatched in the house.
Tonight, a quiet night, is a night to let thoughts surface. Instead of coming home to sleep it is a night to drink hot tea and eat whole wheat bread and Sarah’s strawberry jam while writing out the swirl and range of thoughts that surface unbidden. Thoughts from every angle, corner and folded crease just announce themselves and flutter around much like the over excited children at the other bonfire on another night, the noisy one.
Tonight, as it all flew by I wondered if any of these thoughts would catch my interest and ignite a story or a poem. Although interesting enough to me in my mind’s eye, none of the thoughts or images are the right material to expand upon. The other night, I worried about the fire sparking off a dangerous flame as the children whirled about showing off, cooking burnt marshmallows and running around with charred hotdogs on long metal sticks. I found myself mentally reviewing emergency first aid in case it was required and thankfully it wasn’t.
Neither bonfire was mine so as a guest at each one all I could do is share the cool dark night, the brightness of the flames and follow the flow. Hours later at home, on the quiet night, comforted by the second cup of hot tea and homemade jam with fresh, soft bread I write this odd little post that came out of the smoke, unbidden.

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