Ways of looking at a fire: through a clear prism, one eye closed, one an emerald hidden in the rushes.  Snuggle your breath into the branches of your lungs

Fold crepe sentences into backstories that ignite, sending embers spinning into eras

as your voice becomes a generation of sound. Hushes, soothes, frays at the edges until your anecdotes hang like bunting across the edge of summer