I’ve been called a fire witch. For when the fire burns it rages once I light it. Captivated by the burning flames, its warm, deadly, and beautiful. Watching it dance to its own music. The cracking and popping is a sweet lullaby to which lulls me to my bed. Only not just yet as I watch the flames slowly die down. I wait to see my bright light go out, leaving the room colder and wanting.
(I took this photo with my IPhone)
I grew up in a house with a wood stove as it's primary heat source and this invoked so many memories for me. It inspires me to want to write about my own time staring into the fire. Thanks for sharing.
That’s a great memory. I’d love to read it once you have written it.
Fire witch... sounds like a great title for a novel. This poem made me sleepy with its audible crackling/cackling.
Thank you, it came to me as I watched it.