After two years, it had become a tradition. So, this third year, after unloading our bags, Ellis and Julian immediately joined me in the search. This year Megan was with us too. The beach was mostly pebbly, but rocky in some spots. Easy to spot the driftwood bleached white from the sun. First we collected the kindling. Then later the more substantial bits and pieces of limbs and lumber washed ashore by
Then, as the sun began to set on the landward horizon the next step in the holiest of holy rituals began. Our techniques and successes would win the approval of even the most demanding Scoutmaster. Very quickly flames were a’dance in the stone-lined pit.
Little Lylo, too young yet to gather the makings, was as entranced as anyone. None of them really likes eating marshmallows, but they all love toasting them over the open fire.No waiting for the embers either.
As darkness settled it was totally therapeutic to loll about, enchanted by the sights, sounds, and smells of campfire and the rhythmic beat of the waves gently breaking on the shore.
Fire and water, the sometime foes. Joined in complementary harmony. A rustic Yin and Yang.
