I've started writing again
Strike serenity anywhere
I think I was seven years old, maybe eight.
Camping with my aunt and cousin was an incredible treat. Unbelievable. Mom and Dad weren’t there, Louis was there for the day but he was still too little to stay overnight. It was just me with my cool 11 year old cousin camping at Kayak Point. Truly, I was a big kid now.
I don’t remember a whole lot about the trip besides my aunt’s friend going to look for firewood and coming back with a small tree. By small I mean large. Why scavenge when you’ve got an axe? We weren’t hurtin’ for firewood after that although, we had to hide the tree from the park ranger. The ranger with the red eyes, my mom would tell every summer, the one who comes for you when you don’t pay your site fee.
One evening while sitting around our campfire, fueled by illegality my aunt said simply, “hey wanna learn to light a match?”
OF COURSE
She brought me that giant, beautiful, red box, a blue speckled camping mug of water and this advice; Strike away from yourself and don’t let it burn down too long.
It’s to this day one of my most calming moments: an aluminum folding chair with the sun firmly in the sky and that blue speckled camping mug. Hours seemed to pass as ignited sulfur tip after sulfur tip of those easy strikes and watching the balsa wood burn down and transform from a clean tan line to a black curl. Charred. Watching the perfect orange flame moving towards my small dirty hands filled me with a sense of peace that I have never been able to explain to myself. What exactly about the introduction of strike anywheres to my generalized knowledge about the world gave me that tranquility.
The crack of the match against the abrasive cardboard gave me a quick sense of accomplishment. You see that tiny little thing? I made that happen. Powers of nature were in the palm of my hand and the gratification was instant. Way better than waiting for that stupid bean plant to grow.
Dropping my little orange star into a blue speckled universe gave a satisfying hiss of finality that echoed that initial crack and whiff of carbon that made me see everything and nothing.
Now, sitting over the electric stove in my galley kitchen with the cardboard strap that enclosed my fresh box lies next to my ceramic mug half full. Box in one had universe in the other, crack, hiss, crack, hiss. Letting the heat touch my finger tips as much as I dare before releasing, all I can see is orange and reverence.
I think I was seven years old, maybe eight.
Camping with my aunt and cousin was an incredible treat. Unbelievable. Mom and Dad weren’t there, Louis was there for the day but he was still too little to stay overnight. It was just me with my cool 11 year old cousin camping at Kayak Point. Truly, I was a big kid now.
I don’t remember a whole lot about the trip besides my aunt’s friend going to look for firewood and coming back with a small tree. By small I mean large. Why scavenge when you’ve got an axe? We weren’t hurtin’ for firewood after that although, we had to hide the tree from the park ranger. The ranger with the red eyes, my mom would tell every summer, the one who comes for you when you don’t pay your site fee.
One evening while sitting around our campfire, fueled by illegality my aunt said simply, “hey wanna learn to light a match?”
OF COURSE
She brought me that giant, beautiful, red box, a blue speckled camping mug of water and this advice; Strike away from yourself and don’t let it burn down too long.
It’s to this day one of my most calming moments: an aluminum folding chair with the sun firmly in the sky and that blue speckled camping mug. Hours seemed to pass as ignited sulfur tip after sulfur tip of those easy strikes and watching the balsa wood burn down and transform from a clean tan line to a black curl. Charred. Watching the perfect orange flame moving towards my small dirty hands filled me with a sense of peace that I have never been able to explain to myself. What exactly about the introduction of strike anywheres to my generalized knowledge about the world gave me that tranquility.
The crack of the match against the abrasive cardboard gave me a quick sense of accomplishment. You see that tiny little thing? I made that happen. Powers of nature were in the palm of my hand and the gratification was instant. Way better than waiting for that stupid bean plant to grow.
Dropping my little orange star into a blue speckled universe gave a satisfying hiss of finality that echoed that initial crack and whiff of carbon that made me see everything and nothing.
Now, sitting over the electric stove in my galley kitchen with the cardboard strap that enclosed my fresh box lies next to my ceramic mug half full. Box in one had universe in the other, crack, hiss, crack, hiss. Letting the heat touch my finger tips as much as I dare before releasing, all I can see is orange and reverence.