Afterglow

The fire nestled itself nicely between the sand and the crook of the sun-bleached log, right where the ground used to separate its visible and invisible universes. To the left of the fire, massive roots began like thick, wooden legs, each traumatically amputated above the knee. To the right of the flames lay the first 25 feet of the once proud trunk of the derelict tree. Now it was being slowly eaten in two by the hungry tongues of flame which flickered and danced up and around its girth, leaping occasionally into the night sky like marooned space travelers from far away, seeing their home near a distant star and jumping at it in a vain attempt to return.

Ted had built the fire in the elbow of that driftwood log after the last violent storm several months before. The log was still there and, though there had been many fires built in that same place, it was only now beginning to show the effects. He had chosen that spot for the fire because it offered good shelter in case there was a strong breeze blowing, and the tree reflected the heat outward so one got more warmth from the same fire. Later, though, he had found that, once the fire was lit, its glow created an environment that transcended time and space, providing a venue for truth to be spoken, fears conquered and love fully expressed. It was a place in which it always felt wonderful just to be alive as yourself. Best of all was sharing it with others who felt the same. Tonight there were four of them, including Ted, and he sat down on the blanketed sand to wait for the others to walk down from the cottage.