Birth of a New Day

The fire is comforting—Its warmth, its light. I sit there looking on
         watching it dance to its own beat upon the oak—Sedated

~I remain staring at it.

         Hearing the crackle of air seeping from the logs.
It reaches out to me. Asking me to dance wildly with it.
It first reaches for my legs and feet.

Pulling me closer—tempting me to join in.

I feel myself sinking—deeper and deeper
                   as its warmth rises up my legs like water in a tide.
         Anxious to be fully engulfed in it.
Then~it begins to recede.
          The thick of the oak logs grow weak.
                             Help! —I cry in my head—More Logs!
But nobody comes…

It grows ever weaker. Pulling its warmth in with it.
         Retreating as the cold bitter air takes over~unwelcomed yet inevitable.
With no help the fire will quickly diminish. The warmth, the light
         ~trapped back inside the log. A prisoner

~locked away by the cold winter air.

Until a key is fashioned to ignite its spirit—letting it dance freely once more.

I step out of my trance. The chill of the room sobers my blood, and I go to bed.

This is now.
I am the fire.
Just set free.