Smoke, Fire and The Sun
Summer is glorious, I have decided.
This year, I am motivated in a whole new way. I’m excited and enthused and all forms of energetic. I am in love.
Today I roasted marshmallows over a smoky campfire. It wasn’t too hot out, it was not windy at all, there were fireflies sparkling in the sky, I was happy.
I have a love/hate relationship with marshmallows. I like them in lucky charms, s’mores and rice krispy treats. I hate them in fluff-form, plain, or in pinwheel cookies.
Oh, how I never cease to amaze myself with how often I contemplate the meaning of life.
Really, anything can send me off on a contemplative tangent.
Gobble, gobble. And stuff.
This summer I don’t really have any goals or any plans, just to not make plans and to fulfill my goals and such. I am far too much of a planner than is good for me, so I am making an effort to not plan. You know, the whole living in the moment ordeal. I will let you know how it works out.
For the second campfire of the season, this one turned out pretty well. It was peaceful and comfortable, despite the sweaty, smoky atmosphere. I almost think it was beautiful because of the sweat and smoke because I’ve learned to be happy despite such things. It’s okay to be sticky and sweaty and a little too smoky because, who cares? We’re human. We aren’t meant to be perfect, or to get things right, or to be perfectly groomed and pristine and proper.
Me? I slouch. I eat with my hands. I break my nails as I’m digging through the woods and scrape-up my knees — and that’s okay. I can be smoky and sweaty and have sticky hands because of melty marshmallows, even if I have a love-hate relationship with them. And that’s another thing. Why over-analyze something so fun just because it is full of sugar? I’m ready to be done with that, if ya know what I mean. 😉
Having a campfire any time soon?