Fire and form

A Friday fusion of fire and form for your mind to ponder.

I was born on a day of fire.

I need to write the wild, the raw and the free.

A day of farewelling the withering winter, of singing the buds out of the ground, and welcoming the baby new spring.

I need to write the beauty, the subtle and the tangible, the shy, the wonky and the frail.

Shiny new shoes running on muddy post-winter grounds around a glowing bonfire, the sounds of young giggles mingling with others of crackling garden waste.

I shape the roar and the flutter with my pen, the tingle and the lingering sigh.

Cool air expanding my chest, fire tongues aglow under dusky skies and the smell of turning a new leaf.

I want my reader close, sensing my words, my breath on their skin.

Flickering flames and ember eyes, air ablaze next to quiet betweens in a choreography of this moment.

I dance the words to my fingertips and beyond.

Fire-licked bird-cherry branches exploding with blossom the next spring, rushing the scent of renewal to my mind, painting my freckles with joy.

I set free the spaces between the words, butterfly them to the sparkle in your eye.