The Log Fire.
Sometimes when the rustling flames are dancing on the hearth,
I catch the music of the trees along a woodland path.
I hear the wind move through the branches in a long low sigh
and see a tracery of green against a summer sky.
The logs now crumbling into ashes once were sentient things,
Tremulous with life and movement and the beat of wings.
The wood that gives its golden fires to light this wintry day
has worn upon its living limbs, the snowy blooms of May.
~ Patience Strong.
Art Jill Barklem
Text & image source: Snowwolfs Woodland Nook https://www.facebook.com/Snowwolfswoodlandnook/