August 23, 2004

  • Summer Flame


    It was always there, dry tinder and heavy timber.  But as Spring turned to Summer, something — a spark, maybe sunlight focused through a broken bottle — something started.


    It caught quickly.  Leaves of protocol withered away, leaving nothing to slow the searing bandwidth.  Lines were drawn, a wide moat filled to contain the conflagration.  Time stretched, time compressed.  And too soon it burned out, with starts and stops and gasps and sputters.   Learning from history, the grace to let go.  The grim task of rebuilding the wall.


    Hot fires leave warm embers, perfect for the hearth.  Winter’s coming.