Sunday, December 18, 2011

upward like sparks

"I have a theory," by grandson declared, as the car sailed over the rolling country side on the way to kindergarten.
"When wood burns it turns into dust."
My thoughts swirled upward like sparks.
I have pondered burning wood myself as I've sat before camp fire light.
Where does its heat come from?
It seems that the warmth of a hundred summers is stored in that wood and released at once.
Burning wood glows as coral as salmon flesh; its grain, one of the myriad repeating patterns of nature.
In the morning, ash is all that remains of the grand blaze of the night before.
The tree has flown away, up and up and up into the starlit sky.

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