Story: The Old Woman's Fire

Cloudy skies make for blurry windows

and opportunity for nostalgic music

accompanied by warm cacao.

While the drops pound on the glass

I raise my mug filled with the heart-warming

elixir and bring it to my parched lips.

I am now too old, my bones too frail

to run in the fields near the lake

as my clothes, permeated with the heavenly rain

slow down my progress. The cabin would

be waiting, rustic and proud, near the lake,

where I learned to swim during the hunting 

season. The chimney would see a fire flare up

and quickly smoke deer meat or a fishy catch.

As I watched the chocolate drain from the mug,

I remembered the stories, the legends of wicked

evil doers, satanists who only deserved the

greedy flames of a witch hunt fire. How funny,

I thought, that such fires were destined 

to be feed with people like me.