From Ash and Smoke

There is something about a camp fire
Smoldering through a cold Spring night
Which captures my mind and spirit.

I am taken back in time
To flint locks and ferry boat rides
Johnny cake lunches
knots and lashings
Lessons history teaches.

Like a river I traverse
Down hyperbole lane
Being cleansed in a bath of lye soap
The kind made of ash from a Black Swamp oak
And I am transformed.

Transcendent
I find a rhythm not my own
from legacies of hard work
Sweat and toil of a frontiersman's brow
and ladies wanton of big city finery.

Then, I return home and find a truth
that cannot be washed away
From smoke and ash a smell never leaves
my hair or clothing completely
It has sunken into my skin
and flows through my veins
to each hidden heart beat of my soul.

D. A. Wittler 2014