His hut is the farthest from the fire.
It makes him feel brave and independent.
He built it out of timbers, straw and stone
with sticks for a door to impede intruders.
His people are hunters and gatherers,
reliant on wild game and edible plants.
His hunt takes him deep into the wilderness
where adventure stirs his spirit and enriches his soul.
Though he’s content to share the air with all living things,
he realizes sacrifices must be made.
When day is done, he brings his bounty to the fire
which burns in a circular pit lined with stone.
The aroma of roasting meat fills the air
and beckons those in their hut to share his food.
In praise, their gratitude becomes a song
composed and chanted in rhythm with the wind.
The fire that moments ago was a tool for cooking,
now bears a mocking resemblance to the sun
providing warmth and brightness to the night.
Around a smoky campfire the stories begin
bouncing back and forth across the flames.
Like kindling, words spark imagination.
Truths lead to legends and myths are born of lies.
Tall tales come to a halt when the embers die
and people wander quietly to their home.
His hut may be the farthest from the fire,
but stories fill his dreams and he is never cold.
Poem prompted by photo taken at Stonehenge in Wiltshire, England. The hut is a replica of one lived in 4,500 years ago by those who built Stonehenge.
