I try to light the fire in the hearth, but the wood is raw, not burning. An opaque flame crawls across the surface of one of the trees, licks it and exhales instantly. Hot smoke fills the kitchen. I touch a second stick, but the effect is the same. I kneel in front of the hearth and start mouth-blowing, swinging the broom over the piled wood, hopefully waking the glimmering spark, but soon it too is extinguished. No, nothing will happen without dry wood. I fetch dry kindling and scratch the stick again.
The flame licks the white pile, the pine trees begin to crackle, sputter and spit out their red tongues. But they are lush, impatient, and by the time I shake them they have turned to ash, and the kitchen hasn't even caught a whiff of the heat. I put more of the kindling, but next to it a few dry hornbeam trees split in two.
The flames dance a riotous dance, the embers' eyes glittering beneath them. And only then do they wake up - the raw wood I struggled to light at first. They look around hesitantly, but when they see the whirling dance of the dry flames, they hold out their hands timidly, they passionately take them in their arms, and a frenzied dance takes place in the hearth. It gets so warm in the kitchen that I start to undress... But good thing I had the dry kindling!
