For me, a joy of winter is the log fire. The fire is primitive, earthy, pre-modern. Fire is life and light. Fire takes us back to the ancestors. Preparations begin in late summer/early autumn when we order and stack the wood, and gather the kindling, literally a shed full. When the squirrels get busy, so do we. Neither they, nor we, want to be caught unawares when the cold arrives. Each day in winter requires several trips to the wood stack, the careful laying of the fire, the nurturing and tending of the flames.
In days of old, the fire would be protected through he night by "smooring"—carefully tending the embers, laying them out with peat logs, covering the whole with ashes, and so preserving the embers until morning. The Carmina Gadelica has the prayer gently intoned during the smooring :
The sacred Three
To save,
To shield,
To surround
The hearth,
The house,
The household,
This eve,
This night,
Oh! this eve,
This night,
And every night,
Each single night.
The fire was literally the center of the home, around which all took place, and figuratively too. The hearth—the place of fire—became a metaphor for the home, the place of love and care, of safety and kindness, the inner place.
It's a small step to ponder the gentle flame in each of us—the heart, the soul, the spark of the divine. That inner life needs gentle tending and care. We tend the soul through prayer, meditation, reflection, and intentional somatic practice. Morning mindful exercise fans the flames of a new day. Meditation during the day returns us again and again to the heart. Prayer before sleep smoors the fire. This tending allows the fire to burn: spontaneous, playful, sometimes wild and unpredictable, always warming and comforting.
May the gentle flame in your heart burn well today,
+Ab. Andy