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the orange/red edges

wave and dance, delighting

above blackening wood

holding, protecting the white/blue

center as it flared off future embers

and I smell smokey air

and smile at the ever-changing shape

and hear my great-grandmother’s voice

behind me, just as it once was,

lower, softer,

slightly gravelly from cigarettes,

“When I hear the crackle, I always know it’s caught “

and I smile, knowing that

some things are still true

written 6-25-09

Things I love: Campfires, my camera

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