Once you crouched at the edge of a little fire. 
You had built it from fallen branches and fed it till there was no more wood. You were contained in black. There was no moon. Storm clouds covered the stars. The earth beneath your feet could not be seen. The fire would die. You were alone – except for a few choices.
Can you imagine your choices? None of us will have the same ones. Let yourself sit at the edge of your fire. You and the place and the choices deserve at least thirty minutes of undistracted time. Ask yourself what trees lost their branches. Ask yourself where the storm came from. Ask yourself what light shines from the New Moon.
Ask yourself why you are alone.
Please write for at least thirty minutes about your fire. Your dark. Your aloneness.
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