Fire sprites and flame stars leap and soar and sail against the deepest blue of dawning night, the darkest pastels on textured flat— brush against it and your fingers will stain, clothes chalked dark-bright blue, edged in charcoal smoke of nighttime clouds, with spots of light so unreal and yet so true; the faeries are flying and the only other light is the child’s camera screen, light from arms outstretched and aimed, the camera pointed at the flying fire in fiercest hope, unwavering belief, the desire to catch magic and flare.
I saw this photo on my friend Crystal Thieringer’s blog and was instantly mesmerized. Strangely, it transported me back to a childhood memory of an unspecified book that contained a similar image. Or at least I think it contained such an image…such are the vagaries of childhood memory. In any case, this image resonated hard with me, and I knew it called out for a poem. I don’t think I’ve done it justice, but I may try again.
My thanks to Crystal and the little girl’s mother for permission to use the photo. Please visit Crystal’s original post for the story and context of the photo.