But the mood is charged. The fire sets a new pace, calling in a rush, an urgency.
The flames lick the wood hungrily, dancing in a starving frenzy. The fire rises to a peak, no longer smouldering coals but long orange & red tongues devouring the wood like a pack of sharks in a blood bath. It’s war in there.
Each new piece of wood is introduced; arriving thick and strong & impenetrable; but the fire is alive & powerful in its mission, determined & confident of victory. Within minutes the new wood is blackened before bursting, combusting, firing into heat as long arms of flame grab it, twist it, steal its strength – converting it to fuel.
Sticks, branches, logs, breaking down so easily within the hottest furnace-point of the fire on its sole mission- to provide warmth for its human masters.
We have determined its borders. It can be as angry as it desires, feeding in its frenzy within the confines we’ve set. It’s fury raises long thin arms, fists shaking. It billows smoke in its proclamation of victory. But it’s performance is confined to a man-made stage. The show is for us. We are the masters, the audience, and the directors.
It is all for the brewing of my chai, after all; & no matter its own will to spill out, take over, race across camp, lick the base of tall trees: it won’t.
It will stick to the script; perform to its full capacity, bring the best show to date … & boil that billy.
It is we who will declare the final curtain. We’ll add no fuel & the fire will take on a new dance, settling down with the coals into a gentle ballet, quietening its rage, finding a contented graceful rhythm until its final peace- the last scene: grey ash, cooling at the close of the curtain.
Buzz day 133 has begun!
I dunno how He keeps leading us to more & more beauty & outdoing Himself constantly. But He does.
Trust Him. He does!
You’ve been Luvn on by