Gnarled hands as old as the bark they gather smooth the rough wood to perfection. Setting the finished pieces in a pile, he selects a new piece from the heap beside him- building his mound of wood. He sets them down in the pit, lining the base with strong bark pieces and dried leaves.
As he places the final stick gingerly, he leans back against the tree trunk and closes his eyes in one swift seamless motion. He withdraws a match from deep within his tunic and strikes it hard against the stone. Lighting his kindling, a smile spreads across his weathered lips as he watches the spark grow to a bright flame; devouring all around it. Holding his hands out towards the heat, he looks into the darkening horizon, as the colors blaze across the sky - melting into one another; leaving a burning sunset in their wake.