First Fire

I drove home yesterday evening after a long day of work, appointments, and errands.  A residual chest cold had drained every last ounce of my fledgling energy and forced me to concentrate intensely on the road.  Otherwise, I would have enjoyed the lingering washes of sunlight that swept the skyline above the open, rolling fields as I passed.  Nearing home, I began weaving myself into forested hills and hollows.  I finally pulled in my gravel driveway with a wheezy sigh of relief.  I grinned.  A smoky billow was curling from our chimney.  I dragged myself and my groceries into the house and was immediately wrapped in the warm scent of hot soup and burning wood.  My husband had dinner and a hug ready when I stepped in the door.  If there was ever a winning combo to enhance my mood (and recovery), he’d nailed it.  The warmth from the fire in our cozy apartment, the steamy chicken soup, and a mug of soothing herbal tea were the perfect fit as I lay swaddled in a fleecy blanket on our couch.  The first fire of the season is always exciting; but this year, it was also therapeutic.