After Turkey Soup, A Bonfire

I am fairly certain that passengers in any jet plane bound for Seattle could have looked out of a window and spotted this fire. I don't know what they would have made of such a fire in the wilderness, as it would have been tiny from their perspective. But I am positive that any pilot cruising overhead in a smaller, locally connected, airplane would have confirmed the sometimes prevailing suspicions that Chelan County has a voodoo, witchcraft, devil-worshipping cult lodged deep within its forests.

Such is the nature of a bonfire. Such has often been their history.

However, this bonfire was supplied with every piece of scrap wood totally unfit for every unforeseen purpose in the future. Burning was the only way to rid ourselves of it. Built by Christians, tended by Christians, enjoyed by Christians, the magic was in its heat and its light and in the great and good fun that can be had from a massive snowball fight interrupted only by the necessity of having a cup of hot chocolate topped with a marshmallow served from the tail gate of a pick-up truck parked at the scene.

And grounded in their accustomed places,
But at a safe distance from the fire,
The trees
Managed to keep their snowy muffs intact
While they surrendered their nocturnal privacy
To this uncommon light.