Embers dance along the edges of the fire and the tips of overhanging branches, creating a light show that can never be replicated. The beating heart of the world is in each branch, every croak of a frog, any twist of the flames.
The creek trickles with purpose across rocks, birthing life into nearby dams and feeding the green banks. Within the waves, tadpoles and frogs, swimming, dancing, living. Stretching above, reeds that shelter spiders from rain and provide a resting place for mosquitoes.
Dry grass underfoot, a gentle breeze that tickles the ears, everything that surrounds is alive. In the centre of a field, adjacent to a creek, close to fire and surrounded by a wall of trees, the sights and sounds culminate into an unbearable beauty.
Encasing the world, a purple night sky. The illusion of life shimmers within each star, twinkling little lies that simultaneously give hope and devastating truths. The moon reveals itself from behind cold grey clouds, a new reminder of the fragile vitality of the world. Clouds moving across the sky give the atmosphere energy, circling the Earth, taking up moisture, releasing rain, breathing short and tumultuous lives. Electrifying the world, the clouds spark and for a moment everything is shocked into a brilliant explosion of light.
Return now to the field. Crackling logs snap under the weight of the flames and each other. Smoke billows up and around, another short lived life. A noisy silence as only nature speaks. Leaves rustle with the delicate sway of each branch, a chatter that cannot be understood. The grass moves across each other, blades swiping and slicing communications that whisper in the wind.
Midnight strikes and a barrage of explosions echoes throughout the valley. The wall of sound grows taller than the trees. It spills and dips over the protective canopy, leaking in between branches and leaves, disrupting the calm, cascading down upon the quiet field. Like a poison, the sound permeates every pore, shaking the ground, rumbling the Earth, disturbing the silence of the night. The sound roars on, rumble after rumble, disturbing everything it can, spewing across the land like a tsunami. Time is irrelevant, the sound sickens and destroys, turning beauty into a crumbling decay.
After an eternity, it slows, the painful blows ease to occasional popping in the breeze. The trees relax, the grass slackens and the fire mellows to a few burning coals. The bright flames recede into the logs, creating a still burn, one that churns and bubbles beneath the surface. Grey ash settles at the edges as the world learns to breathe again.
There is beauty in the barely perceptible.