Sifting through nostalgia

Dreading the absence of something that has yet to be absent

how odd…

At dusk, some of the locals light a fire… I’m not sure why but some say it’s to ward off the mosquitos.

But the smell, something about the smell that the fire brings at dusk

mixed with the delicate ingredients that make up the sweet fragrance of Indonesia

speaks to every trace of my being

And even though I am still here…

I lay here listening to the thunder roll, gazing at lightning’s fury thrash about the sky and watching the rain as it murders the fires, forcing them to reignite in their wildest dreams…

I trace my steps back to Indonesia

where the fires breathe their idea of love back inside

the spirit-soaked, dusk sky of Indonesia