Forests are magic for children. A place to escape from the watchful eyes and restrictive norms of adults. Here we can discover some elemental piece of ourselves that normally sleeps. The smoke from the fire rises up in yellowish puffs. They match the yellow pedals of flowers, the puffy tops of trees in the distance, and the long, worm-shaped clouds that stretch across the pale, grey sky. This whole place is a bit yellow, brown, and sickly looking. It's just that time of year I suppose. We behave casually, enjoying this game where we pretend we're in charge of our own destinies. Where we pretend that the houses and church of our town are a distant city and castle over-taken by a giant, filthy ogre, or perhaps a fire-breathing dragon, either of which we plan to defeat through cunning and stealth. But right now we're setting up camp on the forest's edge. Just far enough to feel safe in the cover of trees. Ironically the opposite is the reality. The forest is the true danger, and the town the only safe haven for two, sheltered kids. But it's fun to pretend. Fun to play with fire.
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