THE FIRST FIRE OF THIS AUTUMN

THE FIRST FIRE OF THIS AUTUMN

Sunday morning. And I fancy a coffee at the local bar. A small bar, a rustic one, which smells of summer domino, of coffee and sandwiches, and of farmers, and of the workers from the factory nearby, who have breakfast like warriors every morning, at eight.

And that first fire in the fireplace surprises me. Why am I so glad to see a fireplace with logs, giving off heat? It’s the feeling of being at home, to come back home. Taking my cold hands close to the embers and the  flames. It is a pleasure to gaze at, as if time did not exist, the dance of the flame on the logs, always different, never the same, evolving as our own life, unpredictably. It goes up the log, then suddenly it splits in two, giving birth to hundreds of sparks flying up the chimney, and the log slowly becomes hot embers, which seems to be beating, fueling new flames, heating up the place, oak and moss-scented, priceless. Hands close, heated. And one would never want to leave.

A love for the heat is not trivial. Heat of fire, the heat of the caress of the one we love, of the kind gesture, of the unexpected welcome. Heat in the cold.

I take a picture of the flame, the logs and embers. The first one I think I have ever done. And I want to share it.

 

Kisses, hugs,

Álex

Alex Rovira