Margo Roby has us thinking about fire – mostly in terror at a runaway fire in the open. I’m re-blogging one of my old favourites, in honour of our new woodburning stove, which is such a comfort.
A friendly word
for the start of warmth.
Splinters, shavings, chips of oak,
chopped sticks and kinked twigs
then serious timber, a handspan thick.
The catalyst, a fizz of sulphur,
prelude to atavistic pleasure
in spits, sparks, flames,
and quietly glowing cinders.