Fire Fly

The ash from the campfire rises up, some still aflame for a few feet, then snuffed out by the cold to settle back to the ground. I stand warming my hands, watching the sparks, the tongues of flame twist, fanned by the wind fueled by the well-lit pile of logs and superheated coals. My eyes scan the updraft, smoke, soot, bark remnants still on fire swirling everywhich way.

My mind roars along with the flare-ups, taking me soaring into the night sky. My imagination takes flight on owl’s wings, flapping against the wind, against the pull of gravity, feathers disturbed.

I go as high as I can until my body is exhausted, my heart strained–its heat spreading from my chest. I glide at the height for a while, peering down, into the woods, with night vision everything is twilight, the outline of leaves and needles of the treetops sharp, the grasses and flowers of the clearings in high definition.

Tonight the fireflies are out in abundance, their pulsing embered bodies flashing like Christmas lights. The wind pushes me faster and as the current takes me, I hang glide speeding along, my view of fireflies changes from flickers to timelapsed rivelets of light.

As the gusts still I’m able to circle around riding the downdraft. Spiraling in my descent on one curve I spot the campfire burning bright as the sun to my eyes. I look away and my eyes stay at the level I’m on above the trees, amidst the smokey haze, turning seeing the perimeter I twitch my wings to slow, and I flutter back into me.

Your arms come around me from behind like the wings I just flew with. Your heat warms the chill at my back. My arms pull you close like wings sweeping forward just before landing. And we meet, like birds of flight reach ground. Creatures who live by air.

Embracing each other, our thoughts take us to different heights but our hearts are in the same place.

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