#campfirewritings

[foxeswritefiction-blog]

I long for the days my putrid scent is overcome by billowing smoke and ambrosial aspen trees. When it doesn't matter that I'm covered in soot so thick the puissant rain can't wash it away; when I am doused in mud and blood and can't tell which from where, with splinters embedded beneath the dirt encrusted life lines running along my veins. I'm happiest when I'm dirty, no, FILTHY, and I'm not worried what cleanly person is judging me. I long for the days when the days are long and the river is roaring and time seems to stand still. For I am freezing unless I'm wrapped in a insulated flannel sack or singeing my leg hair by the fire. I don't bother washing my hands before handling my food, because nature isn't unsanitary or tainted, the dirt feels clean like I could bathe in it, unlike the dirt tumbling down the mountain. Nature makes me feel clean. Although I am weary of rattlers and careful to pack my food away because tonight I sleep in bear's country, I feel human outside of town and complete inside the forest. Despite the cuts dried in blood, despite the bruises I'm not sure what caused them, despite sleeping on a rock all night, nothing fulfills me more than building a fire to keep warm. A fire so strong, nothing, not even the rain, could soak the white hot coals beating to the sound of drops plopping into the ashes. I long for these days, though they have been few and far between, the days line up slowly, the more and more I go camping. #creativenonfiction #cnf #nonfiction #creativewriting #literature #microessay #instagramessay #camping #campfirewritings #campwriting #optoutside #rei #REIrainflyworksdamnwell (at Big Tesuque Campground)

[foxeswritefiction-blog]

He builds fires in the pit of your soul. Fueled by split, fallen trees he axed himself, which you unload from the wood brimming trunk of your car. He digs deep inside your core, using stones as shovels and stones to build your pit higher, for maximum fire safety. He's careful, he's diligent and he pays no mind to horse flies or mosquitos swarming around aspen trees and their fallen leaves. He ignites a flame underneath your teepee, made of skinny wayward branches. With grass wrapped bundles of dried scattered brush ablaze the fire grows from a lit match to a roaring flame. Sometimes the fire dies out and he neglects to fuel you with logs, but other times the fire is too powerful and the radiating heat burns him raw. You can't control his burning desire or wildfires and you can't control the rain. You can't stop the wind from blowing you out and you can't stop the pain. Your flames reach the scruffy tendrils of hair sprouting from his chin, you singe curly brown hairs and he doesn't seem to care. He welcomes your burning embrace, he welcomes your fiery touch on his 3rd degree burns. He wants you to burn him as much as he wants to burn you. And you do. He builds fires in the depths of you, starting from your core, your anxious gut flaming from the white hot intensity he has created with his calloused, soot covered hands; he works his way to your heart and burns away your stone wall until you're two logs and two flames. Ready to burn, ready to rage. Two against the world and two differences, together, two the same. #creativenonfiction #nonfiction #cnf #creativewriting #literature #fire #firepit #campfire #camping #campfirewritings #writersofig #writerscommunity #writing #writer #camping #personification (at Santa Fe National Forest)