Saturday, 6 April 2013

In the Warmth of a Fire


There’s something mesmerizing about fire, whether it’s a candle, a campfire or a logs in a fireplace.

I had planned on writing about campfires on a summer night, toasting marshmallows until they were black on the outside and squishy on the inside.

My plans went awry. Old memories and old feelings, from a time long ago, seem to have taken the favourites spot.


F    Fireplace

My eyes were drawn to the fire, the constant movement of the flame, the red hot coals as the log is consumed, and the smoke that dances up and out the chimney.

It was a luxury, a treat I gave myself; the warmth of the fire, a glass of wine and a new book. On a cold winter’s day, with the late afternoon sun shining in the window, and the yellow flames of a blazing fire to chase away the chill, it was the perfect place to sit and relax.

A fire shares with the room its light, its warmth, and its movement, and makes an otherwise empty room, feel not quite so empty. It makes a person, sitting alone and a little lonely, feel cozy and comfortable.

It was apt, for the walls were painted a beautiful shade of blue, that I called that room ‘my blue room’. But colour had nothing to do with it.

The fireplace had an old world charm. It was painted white with a marble inset, had a wrought iron grate to hold the logs and a tarnished, antique brass screen to hold back the sparks.

There was a wall of bookcases to house my personal library, my angel collection, and with my mother’s paintings on the walls, it was the room I sought when I needed to feel the warmth of the fire, of things familiar.

I was new to that house, that job, that town, and my sense of isolation was, at times, overwhelming.

By the time summer arrived I was more settled and rarely sat in that blue room. I took a spare bedroom as a studio and spent my free time rediscovering my art.

Yet, whenever I might need it, I knew that room was there, and with the strike of a match I would have my haven, my place in from the cold, my solace.

I’ve moved on from that house, many times I’m sorry to say, and have had to find other places to be my ‘blue room’. Everyone needs a place that is their sanctuary.

Never before, and never since, have I found a place that offered such warmth and belonging as that blue room with the wood burning fireplace.

2 comments:

Blogger's Brother said...

I agree with the hypnotic effect of watching a fire. And I also agree with the comfort of being surrounded with your "stuff." But that doesn't work here. My "stuff" is in the Man Cave in the basement and the fireplace is in the family room on the main floor. But modern technology has come to my rescue. Rogers cable has a station that plays a fire burning in a fireplace 24-hours a day in glorious HD, complete with sounds of popping and cracking. No muss, no fuss and I can leave it unattended.

Deborah Lean said...

You get the Yule Log all year round?

How do you roast the marshmallows?