Three days into Spring and Winter took another bite. Looking out across the predawn landscape, my corner of the world is covered by one last blanket of snow. Not that I mind. I’ve always had a greater love for the autumnal and hibernal months. But regardless of season, there is one constant, true since my earliest remembrances, and that is my deep respect for and passionate love of a good fire.


Of course I can’t think of bonfires without thinking of Brent. It was one of many common bonds between us, but our mutual admiration for and spiritual acknowledgement of the healing powers of a campfire was the fiery furnace at the center of our friendship.

We lit fires in each others backyards, at campsites all across the Mississinewa and Hobbitland, off the beaten trail in hidden caves and down long forgotten pathways, scattered across States between this one and those in the deep South, when spur of the moment inspiration led us upon wild adventures into the unknown.

Always there was fire.

Some would say that Brent’s fire was extinguished eight weeks ago today, but I don’t think that’s true at all. My friend had a fire inside of him that was eternal. It continues to burn inside of everyone who ever knew and loved him.

I can’t count the number of times that he and I sat around a ring of stones, wood ablaze and dancing beneath the ink black sky, as we sank into labyrinthine discussions about our place in the universe.

Well, I know my place and he knew his.

Fire gives us warmth, light, and protection. So do memories…


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