Man's discovery of how to make fire must rank up there with the discovery of the wheel for usefulness. It enabled him to develop cooking skills, providing a doubtless welcome relief from chewing on raw meat or fish and elevating the yam from a rather crunchy snack to a soft and toothsome delicacy. It provided him with warmth on a cold night, chased away wild animals who didn't know what to make of the dancing flames, and speeded up the drying of his loincloth after washday. Then he could sit in front of the fire for hours, fascinated by the flames as they shot skywards in ever-changing shapes with no substance, simply disappearing into the void.
Haven't we all sat around a campfire or braai and just stared without feeling a need to talk, particularly late at night and into the early hours of the morning, having looked too deep into the bottom of a glass.
And then the fire jumps its boundary and leaps away from you and suddenly it's running along the ground, chased by the wind and licking at bushes and trees, running up their trunks and the wind pursues relentlessly, oxygen-filled wind that makes the flames grow and roar like the lions who were reluctant to come near this hot, orange, ever-expanding, inexplicable thing that leaves everything black and lifeless in its trail.
Fire. Fascination. Fear. In that order.
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