The ashes from the campfires gave off a smoky looking dust as the morning breeze blew over the spent coals.  There’s no more heat left from the bonfire the night before or for that matter any useable fuel to begin anew.  Ashes.  Ashes swirling in the fire pit as the wind directs.  No potential, no present, only past.  A past who’s memory could not be contained as even that had been spent.  Only those outside the fire.  Only those outside its rage and with the ability to observe have any memories of its existence or effect.  Songs, marshmallows and the warm glow of light sips from the whisky bottle.  Old friendships deepened, new ones made all around the power of the blaze that roared for everybody’s benefit they are only ashes now.  Who will remember?


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