I really love fires.
In the fireplace.
A cold winter night.
The percussive patter of rain on the roof.
Wind moans mournfully through leafless trees.
The fire, warm and toasty, reassures.
Is it instinct or learned behavior?
Did my fire-loving caveman ancestors
pass it on to me in my genes?
Natural Selection at work?
Whoa.  Not so fast.
Lamarck was wrong about “soft inheritance.”
What about the environment?
Fires pump out CO2, a greenhouse gas.
Making the whole world toasty.
Too toasty.
I’ve rationalized it.
The wood comes from trees in my yard.
If I don’t burn it, it’s chipped and composted.
Or hauled to a landfill.
Both release methane, another greenhouse gas.
The fire is faster, but the end result is the same.
I hope that’s good enough.
If I’m wrong, please don’t tell me.
I really love fires.

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