The humidity dropped a wee bit and we had a lovely camp fire in the back.

Pitch dark with no moonlight…just the flames and the serenade of frogs and crickets.  The blending of their sounds was like a medicine of calm for our souls.    The frogs were singing with joy of all the rain received the last few days and the crickets joined in with their harmony.

Each time one has a camp fire a new picture is created or memories arise.  A piece of pudgy wood turned into a rose with petals burning away until it was once more just a bud. 

Memories brought back images of my brother David, sitting in a chair with his arms crossed giving out a deep sigh and saying this is peaceful…such perception of purity from one labeled as mentally disabled.  He like the quiet nites around the camp fire.

Aw…another good memory to add on the shelves of our minds.