Starting and tending fires
Like conceiving and raising children
A constant chore, an enduring joy
The spark catches, the smoke rises
Spring is maple syrup time
Distant memories
This same pan and a much smaller me
The steam rises, the sap boils
My father checks the syrup’s thickness again
40 (?) years later
My boy decides to tap trees
I hesitate, reluctantly concede
But when the pan is pulled down
Dusty but intact, doubts begin to fade
It’s meant to be, as sure as spring
Starting and tending the fire
Deep into the night
The generations fall away
But what is real endures
Spring is still maple syrup time
The years spin on with dizzying speed
The boy is becoming a man
As for me, I want to hold back time
Everything changes, what is real remains
All I can do is tend the fire
And pray for a sweet harvest
