Chains Of Fire
by Elsa Gidlow
Each dawn, kneeling before my hearth,
Placing stick, crossing stick
On dry eucalyptus bark
Now the larger boughs, the log
(With thanks to the tree for its life)
Touching the match, waiting for creeping flame.
I know myself linked by chains of fire
To every woman who has kept a hearth
In the resinous smoke
I smell hut and castle and cave,
Mansion and hovel.
See in the shifting flame my mother
And grandmothers out over the world
Time through, back to the Paleolithic
In rock shelters where flint struck first sparks
(Sparks aeons later alive on my hearth)
I see mothers , grandmothers back to beginnings,
Huddled beside holes in the earth
of igloo, tipi, cabin,
Guarding the magic no other being has learned,
Awed, reverent, before the sacred fire
Sharing live coals with the tribe.
For no one owns or can own fire,
it lends itself.
Every hearth-keeper has known this.
Hearth-less, lighting one candle in the dark
We know it today.
Fire lends itself,
Serving our life
Serving fire.
At Winter solstice, kindling new fire
With sparks of the old
From black coals of the old,
Seeing them glow again,
Shuddering with the mystery,
We know the terror of rebirth.
Rumor from The Sun that Ian McKellen will play Dumbledore here. Refutation here. Believe what you want!
Parents have offered to babysit tonight. Since we will undoubtedly take the kids to see The Two Towers again sometime next week, must decide whether I am in a Spielberg mood or a Chicago mood.
For the hell of it, watched The Prophecy II last night (ran out of time for Minority Report which was supposed to be my laundry-folding distraction). Knew there would be no Viggo-as-Devil so was not expecting much, and was terribly disappointed to get a different Thomas who died almost immediately (suspect Devil saved him at the last minute but more on that later). Still, worth watching for Christopher Walken, again. With angels like this, who needs demons?
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