First Fire

When the weather turns irritable

And the season's first shivers commence

I buy wood and light a fire

First, I lay down pinecones from my neighbor's tree

Crumbled newspaper, maybe

Kindling: skinny sticks, and slats

I dig out the long matches and light the fire

Here, here, and here

Then there's the breathless waiting

Hoping

Watching to see if it fizzles or flares

And then...

As the tipping point passes

And the blaze is assured

Something stirs in my DNA

And I feel my ancestors close at hand

They are my assurance

That my sort survives

Rare comfort indeed