campfire

Cackling fire. Starlit sky. Quiet commotion. Lines of stolid subtle tents. The taste of the succulent meat of the barbecue still on his tongue. Warmth sleeping in through his nostrils. Fingers scratched by dust.

He stood staring into the fire, transfixed. It was alive. Red tongues licked the thick logs. Their cracks glowed a bright orange. A groan and a huge trunk cracked into two.

Around him, they were talking. Exchanging quips, loud. Happy. Just the three or four around him. None of the others.

He stood by the hearth, frozen. The circle was wide, perfectly symmetrical. His hands were warm, his heart was alive with fire.

The others around the fire, and in this sanctuary of a camp were silent. Eyes were wondering, brains wandering. Their hands, feet, and tongues bound to the whims of those above them in this hierarchical race. And in this place, there were two that stood above all: the cm, and pir sahib. A beckons from either would send even the mightiest landowner running. Run, calm collected walk, run, calm collected walk. That’s what he thought of them and this place anyways. The fire was nice though.

The flames were alive, they danced to their own beat, to a tune only they possessed. They savored it, and you felt your heart move to the rhythm. But to replicate such a thing? Impossible. You could only instigate it, could light the twigs or trunks, in this case, the latter, on fire. And from then on, it was a living thing, one that you could not control.

The people he had come with, not natives to this camp, to this society, some of his companions could be. Natives, that is. He could too, if he chose. But he didn’t. He was remembering what he had said to them at the start, “not being able to enjoy yourself. Having to be at the beck and call of those higher up in the food chain than you.” Indentured servitude. That’s what it was. They all eyed one another, trying to trip the other. Trying to climb even higher. Where did it stop. The buck did not end. A series of turtles all the way down.

The fire was warm. He slowly turned away, feeling the generosity of the gift from Hephaestus on his backside as he walked the couple of steps to the chair. And sat down between his peers. His old coach, two of the the man’s newer students. A girl in her final year of school, and a boy who had just started university.

He could not stop himself from staring at the flickering flames even as they talked. He murmured and nodded, even answered their direct questions. But his eyes were on the fire, his mind transported to somewhere he could not place. A primal feeling. A feeling of awe. What majesty this land held. What power this earth could imbue. The forces of nature and Gaia, man paled in comparison. He rubbed his hands, the fire cackled calmly.