fire dances in the fireplace, more seen than heard. there’s only kindling right now, and it’s my favourite stage: the room has already begun to warm, and now is the brief tension that comes with adding a small log, maneuvering it just so and waiting for the flames to catch.
it throws long shadows over the smooth wood floor, softening the harsh angles of the uneven stone wall and warming the floor – this, i can feel through the thin soles of my slippers.
as i sit back in my favourite uncomfortable leather chair and reach for the teapot, the log does catch, and the fire bursts into life almost audibly. if i listen hard enough, i can almost hear the crackle and soft hisses as wood pops, and the thuds of small chunks of branch snapping under the weight of the flame.
almost, but for the rain on the roof.