thoughts on a cold winter morning

Man…when I woke up this morning and saw that the fire had died completely I felt so very low. A cold house, a wet day, the wood all wet, the prospect of going out in the gloom and getting the wet wood to start an uphill battle to start the bloody fire again.

I felt hopeless.

I opened the vents and went off to make my coffee.

When I came back I could see a little red spark, still smouldering. My heart lifted.

I took some little bits and I put them carefully over the coals. They started to catch. My heart lifted further.

I went out and picked a few little pieces and placed them on the now burgeoning flame. It grew. Golden light started to come.

Suddenly the day before me felt different. Somehow more comfortable, more hopeful.

Now the fire is raging, the cold beaten back.

I find winter hard. Especially when it’s wet, I have little work, little money and I mentally start to contract into scarcity. My life has lots of endings right now. Uni degree, Italian lessons, even my freaking gym membership is finished. Corona is returning and my friends feel far away again.

But that little spark is always there…waiting for the loving attention to cultivate it into being. If I never bothered to open the vents and just see if there was any life left in the fire I would have assumed that this, too, had ended.

There is always hope.

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