Today we made a fire.
When it was dying, Charlie and I took up the task of re-kindling the flame.
Dead branches fuel fire the most. How fitting that death brings life.
It sparked back up again. Roaring, hissing, throwing sparks in our faces.
Slowly the logs became coals, the bright orange consuming the muted brown, the bark turning a lifeless grey as these once mighty limbs were reduced to cinders.
We all talked about the past, and the future, memories bounced like tennis balls. We all had mistakes- more fuel to add to the fire.
I tossed a lot of memories into the fire, and watched solemnly:
As they all,
When I beat myself up for all the bad things I’ve done, my friend Adam sweeps in to the rescue.
Let the words of love be carried by the whispers of the wind.
By the laughter of the children.
May its warmth be set ablaze by the heat of two bodies yearning to be one.
By the coals of deep burning time.
Let its tranquility resonate in a pool of crystal tears.
Massaged by the dew within our palms.
Let its foundations erect a mighty temple.
Let its followers bow their heads.
Let us be born of love.
And let us die with it.