Click for full image. We are drawn like moths to this flame as it kindles a torch driving darkness deep into the pines. Little tongues of liquid gold licking around aged logs taste what is left of summer s sunshine, igniting molten treasures of lost autumns. Flickering purple flames through black char, fluttering like spent breath of ancient winds. Icy-blue winter flares, blaze and crackle, devouring mysterious secrets known only to shadows and snow.
Charred logs fall apart revealing small crimson hearts, pulsing for life.
Showers of sparks leap skyward, small tails of light enticing us to watch celestial fires where light years away galaxies, spinning and burning dwarf us to infinitesimal size. Click for full image. When Mama died I found she had saved her mother s purse, black leather, weathered soft with age, fat with Grandma s letters tucked inside along with notes and postcards from Grandma s mother, too. Lifting them like treasures I read their fading words as love escapes from the folds. Then, surprisingly, my fingers find three forgotten seeds hiding in the seams.