Blue Fire in the Dark

The Winter night had settled in; the hearth was sinking low.
I pulled my old wool sweater up before the dying glow.
It served me through a score of years, through many a bitter mile;
a faithful friend that held the cold at bay a little while.

I pulled it down across my head.

Then static sprang awake.

A lively snap. Another snap. Blue fire began to break
across the wool in darting specks, as bright as summer skies,
though darkness held the waiting room before my startled eyes.

Again, I tried.

Again, it came.

The merry little blaze
went skipping through the lifted wool in wild, electric plays.
They scampered through the lifted wool with all a youngster's glee,
then left me standing in the dark, still staring foolishly.

I've watched the mountains wear the years. I've watched long seasons flee.
I've seen a thousand stranger things than many folks will see.
Yet still I think of Winter nights when darkness gathered fast,
and static turned an old wool sweater into a spell that passed.

The blue fire lived a heartbeat's time, then vanished from my sight;
still every sweater pulled on now recalls that dancing night.
For wonders seldom make a boast or shout for all to hear.
Sometimes they crackle through the wool... and leave their memory here.