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The littlest campfire

Once upon a time, years ago, there was a 4 day holiday. The weather was warm, I had a friend drop me off in the mountains and pick me up three days later.  I hiked in the first day, hurried up the trail, my head full of busyness from the unreal world, pitched camp. Took off my watch. I slept well, woke up the next morning a little slowed down. But my mind was still busy. Making plans. Finding the best way to do things. Still caught up in the silliness of the unreal world. The third day I woke and the hurry was gone. I walked about, returned, built a tiny fire, remembering how choresome and annoying a big fire could be. Gradually it evolved, becoming a place to heat the small coffee pot that became my kitchen for the day. Three flat rocks, about the size of three house bricks, a hearth too small to admit my hand, in a U. Five minutes foraging would find enough twigs to cook for an hour within 20 feet of camp in a valley where there was "no firewood left". Between short walks the tiny fire boiled my water, cooked my coffee, made my soup, made hot chocolate, cooked the beans. There was nothing but me and the fire and the quiet. Most peaceful. I enjoyed the next morning, relaxed. The sun was overhead, I looked at my watch, put it back on, stuffed everything into my pack and headed back down to wait for my friend to pick me up. My attitude was completely different. Relaxed. The trips effects lasted for a while and then wore off as "work" took it's toll. As time went on it took a week or a month off to get to that same peaceful state. This last time I'd swear it took a year. I think I'll give up "work" and try living instead.
After 25 years I still remember that tiny campfire and the peace to be found doing nothing all day but feed it little twigs.

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