I believe that in my previous life, I was likely a pyromaniac. I love fire. I remember Sunday mornings growing up sitting in front of the fire drying my waist long hair while watching football. I have fond memories of fireplaces in my grandparent’s home, my aunt and uncle’s home, in B4’s parent’s home.
In my apartment, I am lucky enough have a fireplace of my own. Every year I hold out to light my first fire because my wood supply is minimal and I can’t be wasteful or premature. But tonight I had a rare evening to myself and a fire seems like the perfect accompaniment. Plus, given the chilly weather, I thought it a lovely opportunity to curl up by the fire, protected from the elements.
To build a perfect fire you just need a few pieces of kindling, one Trader Joe’s paper bag, several large logs, some huffs and puffs and a little bit of love. In no time a fire will quietly roar.
It’s my first fire of the season. I might just fall asleep in front of it, blissfully happy and grateful. Man could not have invented fire, for it is divine.
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