Fire

Last night we had dinner at Max and Yifat's. The food was delicious (a big, organic farm fresh salad, Max's garlic "sauce" --- fresh minced garlic, lemon juice and vegetable oil ---, chicken wings seasoned with salt, pepper, paprika and olive oil, and Yifat's ratatouille with mint), but the fire out back afterwards was the huge cherry on top of the meal.

They have one of those metal, round fire things and Max made a fire for s'mores. Long after every single marshmallow was toasted, and the kids had retreated to the geodesic play structure, I stood by the fire, absolutely mesmerized. Most everything was enveloped in darkness except for the occasional staccato of the children's laughter (a sound that has a power to banish all darkness).

Roger and Yifat and were talking politics (their unique perpsectives include being a professor of history with a specialization in political movements/activism and a career in a NGO (non-governmental organization) specializing in international women's rights movements/activism). Max, Silke and I occasionally spoke to each other about the fire and fire-related memories, but mostly we were each enjoying the fire in our own solitudes.

The moon, a half-moon perhaps on the side of just waxing to gibbous, alternated between crisp and fuzzy as the clouds moved in the sky. The periodic columns of smoke which rose from the fire went straight up, not enough of a deterrent to the (had to be) last of the mosquitos floating around feeding langorously on, who else, me and Gem.

But, the fire, the fire. The embers which looked like coral or some sort of primitive shell from within the sea, the snaps and sparks, the alive orange flame licking at the air and the wood. I could not move my eyes away. Nourisher of life, agent of transformation. Fire.