Can we say that fire has a spirit? Its sensual dance on toe-tips that barely touch the wood. Its crimson blush, orange eyes sparkling, the drifts of its hair flying madly on the breeze. The swift moves of its dance that slowly push the wood down pulverizing it to ashy dust. Can such activity have no spirit behind it? A dancer so intent that as I close my eyes I watch his flickering imprint continue the motion.