a pile of sticks

adding to a blog is like adding to a fire. you look around and there's a small pile of last years wood. when it runs out the newspapers go next and then the linens and old photographs find use. soon you are left with earth. you collect fallen branches and limbs like frantic fuel but as you gather they become careful comrades, and you pile them in specificly tight little bundles to burn slow. nothing sacred is sacred when you've found that heat and that light, save the provisions named "just enough."

past past erected to its memory even in floods and timelessness are all washed away. i would burn a fire if i only had logs. i would burn a fire if i only had paper. i would burn if only linens and photographs. i would burn only if i were content.

a pile of sticks will make you dream of a single chair, and a single book and a single bed, a tepid room and a candle, a slow burning fire, and a friendly neatly bound bundle of earth.

jP 7.24.10

photo: jP july 2010