Memories, pleasant and warm, are like glowing embers. They keep you warm, they keep your whole being lighted.
It started off as a dull windy day. The sun is hesitating to come out. Being a Sunday there’s nothing much to do in the morning. I was trying to crack what Emily Dickinson had in mind when she wrote
To my small Hearth His fire came —
And all my House aglow
Did fan and rock, with sudden light —
‘Twas Sunrise — ’twas the Sky —
Then my thoughts drifted to the hearth back home.Here’s the hearth at my home in Kerala. My mother still keeps this old hearth in a kitchen outside the house and keeps it burning frequently.Last time when I was there one morning I clicked this photo.Somehow I like this click a lot…It brings back mornings at Anakkara. Hearth and Home can bring in Warmth.
But I have to follow Emerson….’Go where he will, the wise man is at home, his hearth the earth his hall the azure dome’. I love that philosophy too… Man is a mix of contradictions!