Warmth in Winter

Fireplace, family, hot coco, and a nice long stretch of time to write, read, and relax. I've truly appreciated this afternoon. Today after school was dismissed early due to messy weather conditions, I found myself at home with more free time than I was accustomed to on a school day and a light homework load to match. Though midterms were coming up later in the week and there was a page of bio homework lurking in my backpack, I allowed myself to set aside thoughts of school for a short time and enjoy the period of relaxation that Mother Nature had brought for me.

Within twenty minutes of being home, my mother and I found ourselves thinking the same thought. How nice would it be to have a fire going in the fireplace? Surely enough, my complying father built us up a nice, warm fire and has been kindly tending to it since, keeping it flickering and warm for almost five hours now. Though other members of my family have come and gone, I've much enjoyed my time by the fireplace. The heat touches at my cheek even now as I write. In fact, though I've changed spots every so often, I haven't actually managed to tear myself away from the room except to grab a homemade oatmeal cookie from the stovetop and my homework from the mudroom. Even after, I hurried back to enjoy (or not) these things by the fireplace.

Laying here reminds me of cold nights from my childhood, the enjoyment and fascination me and my brother had at watching Dad build up a fire from seemingly nothing. Though we both found the beginning roar of the fire exciting, my brother quickly became bored as it cooled down, only becoming enthralled again if Dad or I allowed him to throw in a piece of newspaper. I, however, have always found the most beauty in the flame of a slowly dimming fire. The flames leap lower, just licking the log and the air closest to it, and the ash underneath glows orange. Although I know at this time I should call to my dad to get the fire started again, at times I'll watch the sparks fly upwards through the chimney instead.

Fire has always signified life to me. I relate its flickering flames to the movement of dancers, its heat to the warmth and love of a family. Though I directly know families that have lost their homes to fires and sympathize with them, I can't help but see the beauty in it as well. After all, the fire did not intend to grow so large as to consume the home. The fire had no intent at all but to burn, either softly or viciously, depending on the conditions it was given, until it burnt out.

The roaring of the fire has just faded from by ears. The flames have grown even smaller, less evident now on the charred log remaining in my fireplace. Burning orange ash slowly dims to gray. But though the fire has now lost its vigor and cooled, in a sense, into a calm, slowing dance, I can still feel its warmth on my cheeks and enjoy the warmth of my family around me.