it was a special pleasure to see things eaten, to see things blackened and changed. Dry grass has its special smell. We set in the end of the garden around the huge fire, we were burning dry grass and yellow leaves from trees. It is a common occasion to do it in the countryside, but I have done it at first then.
My daddy and grandpa perceived the process of burning dry leaves like method to make out-of-door cleaner, but I saw something magic like it was a secret ritual of going out of routine. Daddy replenished the fireplace with the last haycock left on the wagon and fire’s tongues started jumping in a row under its massive mess. Fireplace was blowing heat and smell of burned grass into our faces.
Fire. What a mysterious thing. Something, that makes things become nothing… or SOMEthing. Fire eats everything, it even eats itself. Fire can wipe out things that make stay inspired (remembered the story of ‘Fahrenheit 451‘, Ray Bradbury), things that make love and be loved. Fire revives things from the ash and turns others into it. Fire is burning and makes everything inflame too.
Don’t we have such a small fire in our minds? Fire, which destroy everything even if we don’t want it happens, and at the same time let find out sacred things, which we hid in the palaces of the mind. Fire, which burns any grievances and makes see more light points in everything we contact with. Fire, which maintains spirit in every cell and impulse of the mind. Fire, that makes person glowing and glows something special in people beside…
Fire ate everything daddy had given it, but I didn’t stop thinking about its magic. Magic of inner bonfire.
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