A Quiet Embers' Watch

I pressed my palm against the cool, damp face of a mossy basalt stone, listening to the forest breathe. The nocturnal silence of the woods is never empty; it holds the slow sighs of falling cedar needles and the damp scent of deep earth. Kneeling slowly beside a hollow decayed trunk, I gathered two dry volcanic pumice stones and nestled them side by side. Between their porous faces, I placed a fallen piece of dried punk wood, letting a stray blue forest ember rest upon its brittle grain. A pale, steady glow blossomed in the dark, casting soft silhouettes across the gnarled roots. When night settles heavy, even a silent glow reminds a wandering soul that darkness has an edge.