Bonfires in the Snow

I've just realized lately that sometimes a picture is not worth a thousand words. Sometimes a picture does not explain everything, the entire situation, and people can interpret a picture to mean whatever they want it to mean. A photograph can be dangerous, as is the written word, for once it is taken, or written down, it very often can never ever ever be erased.
Sometimes that's a good thing. Sometimes you will be thankful for that snap-shot, or that letter you wrote in anger, because of the power it holds to transport emotion even years and years and years after it occurred. You can learn from that.
But once in a while, it can bring up situations you thought long gone and buried. Relationships can be shattered, and innocent people harmed. Just be careful. We throw around words and images like they are expendable, but in reality they survive long after we remember the why and how.

I feel like a True Northerner now. Last night I had my first ever winter bonfire out in the country, and it was cold: -15, but we were warm. We huddled close in the woods, staring intently into the flames (made possible by a Norwegian with a bottle of gasoline) and making small talk for hours. It was odd, talking to the person next to me, and only seeing one side of his face the entire night. The other half was completely in shadow. I feel like i know him less now, then when i began. If you didn't keep your boots propped up close to the flames (close enough to gently steam) then your feet got very cold, from being in the snow. My legs felt uncomfortably hot, and my back uncomfortably cold, but i think that that is part of the experience. I love the smell of woodsmoke. When i rolled over on my pillow this morning, i smelt it in my hair, and even while i showered i smelt it in the water. I wish there was a woodsmoke perfume or something. I bet there is, somewhere.