The Good of an Ember

There are times when the fire goes out.

When what was once ablaze in the night sky turns to black.

But what is it when a fire goes out?

When the flames dwindle down to a single dancing orange ribbon.

A flicker of a flame creates a cascade of shadows over your face and you wonder when did the fire start to die in the first place.

I used to love to poke a fire once it died.

A surge of hope would sometimes rise as I poked and prodded at the rocks that pulsed its orange glow.

I would see orange underneath the black and grey, like a firefly inviting you to run amongst the trees as it leads the way into the moonlight. 

Through persistence and a push, I could see more of the orange glow that I hoped to see.

Sometimes underneath the places I once thought were dead.

Sparks would start to fly in the middle of the darkness.

I would strive to find that one ember, an emblem of hope.

Once I found it, I knew I shouldn’t stop until I would see it glow again.

And with that glow, a flame.

And with that flame, a fire.   

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