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+--- Thread: a fire above the deep [three days mood] (/showthread.php?tid=103)
a fire above the deep [three days mood] - phil - 06-07-2013
Dusk wells up from the spaces between the trees and from the precipice into which the ground slopes at an ever sharpening gradient till it falls away into gloom. On a flat space tufted with grass set flush against a raw rock face Three Days has pitched his old tent and there he sits, elbows on knees, gazing out at nothing much as the night comes to claim another day.
Before him a small fire collapses into its miniature coals, twigs transmogrified into delicate lines of ash about a nest of dusty pink coals. A fire so small he could scoop it up with both callused hands, but all he's used it for tonight is to light his rolled cigarette, which hangs now, forgotten, between two fingers.
It's quiet, this high up the mountain. There's a sense of wind moving within the fastness of precipice below, but it's a hollow sound, almost an absence of it, and draws the mind to perilous thoughts. Three Days sits and lets the fire die with the day, relaxed, adrift, as still as if carved from wood or dead.
It's time to reconnect. Too much time spent alone in the wilderness makes his thoughts passing strange, even to himself. It's time to do more than stop at a gas station to buy tobacco and a bottle of Coke. Time to find a local caern, to check in and suss the state of the world. The war.
Dusk deepens. The small fire gutters as the final twigs give up the ghost of heat. An owl sails by on silent wings, and then arcs one wing up so that it turns and drops into the plum and cobalt depths below. The cold causes him to shiver at last, and with a resigned curse Three Days flicks the cigarette into the coals and rises to his feet.
Tomorrow then. Tomorrow he'll start making his way down.