Fire: The Morning Ritual
Kneeling before the woodstove
Like the supplicant I am
Carefully wadding and placing
Yesterday’s news, I think fit
use
And disposal of all the
ugliness
Out There to serve my need
Then the small
kindling-sticks
The right-size twigs with
their dry buds
That will blossom only to
start my fire
Then scanning the hearth-side
stack
Of ready logs and limbs
(But pausing to remember and
be thankful
For that particular tree
And my beloved chain saw)
Looking for the next right
size small branches
To lay atop my little kindling
pile
And thankful to find just the
right first one
The right size and crooked so
as to drape itself
Fittingly across the
kindling-pile
Like the compliant
sacrificial victim it is
Then quickly finding the
other right size and ready
Starting limbs, thankful for
all of them
And the strike-anywhere
matches
Not forgetting to be thankful
for the hands
That fashioned and forged
this wonderful stove
And for the fire that serves my
need.
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