Plog

 Fire. This one was Calvin’s request, I asked him to give me a writing prompt. After some hesitation, he finally boldly said “Fire, I want to see more of the little things that make you happy.” “My glimmers"  Coming to you in a poem and blog form. A plog. Who knows, maybe you'll see this poem in my book. I forgot to mention that, I am writing a poetry book now too. The title is still to be determined.

Dancing With Fire

Ashes dancing in the sky.

Singing heavens lullaby.

The spark, the raging flame,

Masterpiece, without a name.

Red, orange, sometimes blue.

love, laughter, good times, too

Cozy blankets, burning embers.

In cold December, I’ll always remember.

Have you ever touched fire? Accidentally or on purpose? I have, it burns with such intensity that is hard to describe. You might not guess it just from reading my blog or knowing me, but I’m quite the little pyromaniac at heart.

There’s something deeply satisfying about building a fire from scratch. Creating it, watching it grow, feeding it. I really love stacking the wood just right, finding that perfect balance where everything fits together and it feels just right.

The fire itself, that's where the real excitement is. It's alive in a way. It needs air, needs fuel, and I have to tend to it constantly. I spend hours  poking it, feeding it logs, throwing random things in it just to watch them get eaten by the fire.

I love how unpredictable fires are. Sometimes they light up right away without an issue, then other times they refuse to cooperate. It could go wrong at any minute, and there's some sort of twisted thrill in that.

Maybe it's strange, but I take pride in the fires I create, almost like I’ve earned the right to say “That’s mine, I made that.” Now all I have to do is keep it alive.