Growing up, I was often called a ‘firebug,’ and as it turns out, I married someone who also loves the ambiance provided by a cozy fire. I’m over at You Are Here today, writing about how fires have crackled in the background of so many parts of my life. Join me there to read the whole piece.
We turn off all the lights, except the Christmas decorations. The tree sparks with red, gold, green, and blue. White strands frame the window, reflecting off the glass, doubling or even tripling the luminescent specks. The only other light in the room is the glow of the fire in our big stone fireplace.
It’s quiet, but for the soft crackling of the logs and occasional pops of moisture escaping the wood. The light of the flames dances on the walls around the room, flickering and fading, growing and changing. I have always been drawn to the warmth of fires, where the world seems to slow down, where there is space to ponder and ruminate, where I find reassurance, peace, hope.