of Sunrise and Fire

I woke up at dawn on Easter morning this year, slipped out of bed and out the back door wearing borrowed clothes (something about staying at my parents house makes me want to pilfer old and musty smelling fleeces and wellies rather than using my own.)

Curled in a battered wicker chair, I watched the sunrise creeping up,

I reread the gospel account of the empty tomb, felt the despair turned to disbelief turned to joy of the women, could almost hear the pounding feet as John and Peter tore their way to the tomb hardly daring to believe.

I felt his tenderness over the breathless hope of it all, the feeling of being gathered under his wing in that moment before the dawn, sitting front row as the story unfolded before me.

After a while, dad came and joined me, another early riser, capturing the sky with his camera.

Moments like this change us.

On another note, I have recently learned how to make fire! As part of my super fun level three, forest school training, I will actually be assessed on my ability to create and sustain a 10-minute fire.

This is scary to me. Although I may project the image of an outdoorsy girl, I confess that I’ve sometimes exaggerated the level of my basic survival skills, using a careful smokescreen of enthusiasm, general gameness, and an aversion to make up.

But now I’ve gone and put my money where my north face jacket is and over the weekend created two salacious and roaring blazes, (two because I had to check the first wasn’t a fluke!)

the end