Can I hear red?
I can see the red leaves in autumn.
I can feel the red chill in the wind.
I hear red as a crisp, fierce roar of fire.
The burn pile started slowly, timidly,
licking at the edges of thick wood blocks
without hurting them, consuming
slender sticks and slats of wood.
Then the red and yellow flames began a dance
in the center of the pile. It was a fandango
of flashing flames for our entertainment.
We alternated feeding the pile of scrap lumber,
dodging flames leaping out at us
unexpectedly, as the wind changed.
Soon there was a low rumbling force of
red hot coals consuming scraps of wood
at an increasing pace. The flaming beast
ravenous now, a giant animal tasting
raw meat for the first time.
Red flames outnumbered the yellow,
stretching out even further to whisk each
piece of wood from our gloved hands.
The heat became so intense, we could only
throw wood from a distance, feeling
the skin burn on our faces.
The red hot fire was a living thing now
and we were its keepers. It lapped up
patches of green grass just outside the
burning ring. Charred embers tumbled out.
at its height, we had fed it the last scrap.
We watched in wonder as the fire leapt
and danced with the wind, raging, smoldering
and very, very slowly dying from the outside in.
I heard red that day. I heard it. I saw it. I felt it.
I smelled it and tasted it. I saw it live and die.