It is a cold winter’s morning, quite early. I am sitting close to  a small but delightfully warm open fire and contemplating life. Firstly I am thankful for my husband who stirred the fire and fed it before going to work just after dark. I know the fire won’t last long because we have been using wood that is not considered ‘good’ wood for burning. Some people call it rubbish wood because it’s not ironbark or yellow box or similar. And while it’s true that the wood doesn’t have great longevity and leaves more ash than other types, this forgotten wood, collected from around the property, burns warm and bright and gives us wonderful comfort. Our slow combustion heater gets the so-called good wood but actually we prefer to sit and talk in front of the open fire and appreciate the wood that no one else values much.

This wood I am gazing at, as it moves from active flames to orange embers, makes me think along somewhat philosophical lines. How we think things are never good enough. How we don’t appreciate things for what they are. How sometimes we don’t make the most of what we have readily available. How much value there is in the humble, the ordinary. How hard the humble and the ordinary will work if given a chance.

Ah, an open fire. Sometimes I sit and think. And sometimes I just sit.