Fire

Light a campfire and everyone's a storyteller. -John Geddes

I talk here about going outside, no matter the weather, no matter the time of day or night, no matter the length of time you might stay. It is our responsibility and our privilege to partner with nature, often and with our whole heart and soul, because it is available and offered so freely to every single person on earth. OK. I will stop preaching and offer up that option that almost no one will refuse about going outdoors: The Campfire.

Go ahead. Light a fire on a cool evening, in a fire pit, a chimenea, or, if you are lucky enough, on a sandy beach. There is something primal and reflective of human emotions about creating a controlled blaze and sitting before it, with a group or a romantic partner. It is the warmth and relaxation after a journey, it is the tool over which we cook food and boil water, it is the light in the darkness that illuminates without blinding. It is intimate. It is safe.

The words we speak and the thoughts we think when we are perched before this altar are magical. When stories are shared here, sometimes springing from the most secret corners of our imagination, they are given freely, but almost with an unspoken agreement that they will disappear with the smoke and ashes. There is a pact for those who love the flames, that the feelings and dreams, the jokes and tales, the silence and kisses are for that time and place only. That's what makes it magic; that it will only last as long as the wood does, and that it is to be cherished.

If you don't know how to build a fire, I highly recommend that you learn how. YouTube it, ask a boy or girl scout, observe a capable outdoorsman/woman. Get a warm blanket, a hot toddy and a good story in your head and spend an evening that will leave your clothes smelling good and smoky and your soul feeling connected in ways that can only happen in this sacred space. Just. Go. Outside.