A fire for now.

Even in our electric age of light and neon, the glow and crackle of a fire maintain their magic. Fire has, since childhood, been something out of the ordinary; something a little sacred, something a little profound. Firelight reminds you of the darkness we humans used to live in and, indeed, how we were once more comfortable with the shadows. Fires of long ago.

I am reminded of the winter holidays and of summer twilight. A fire was for the special times — vacation, holidays, and gatherings. I see the garden bonfire during that pandemic summer, the Yule log on Christmas Eve, and the crackle and glow along the summer seashore. A time for conversation and truth.

As I gathered up the small sticks that had collected over the winter and added them to our new fire pit, I thought of these fires I had once known. Those were special fires, but what of this? Merely sticks and leaves. And yet despite their humility, they caught quickly and curled. I had never built a fire like this before - a small scappy flame made of yard clippings.

I had, unexpectedly, discovered a new, tender relationship: the little garden fire! The kind that I had always seen farmers build next to their gardens, where sweet potatoes are wrapped in foil and roasted, filling the air with sweetness and bringing a smile to your neighbor’s lips. I felt as though I had unlocked a new level in life: the freedom to build a fire whenever I wanted, unconstrained by time and place.

And yet, of any time and place, now seems just as good a time as any. In this summer solstice season, the days are long, and the nights are short. The days are warming, too. And yet…the light ripens, and slowly the days will begin to grow short. We have reached a turning point and taken that turn — a good opportunity for a blaze to mark the occasion. The solstices, the fires, a time to look back. A time to look forward. A time of now.