Campfire Sessions — 06 apr 25

It’s time to be off, they said.

There was not much left of the once-long stick I had been using to poke at the dying embers for a spell. Each time I poked, bright orange sparks would jump from the rippling ruby coals. For no particular reason, doing so brought me a flash of joy.

I have always been a firebug. Maybe that was why.

I turned to Raven, their feathers ruddy in the glow of the remains of my campfire. Off where? I asked.

You know, they said.

I did not know, but there was no point in telling them this. We would just argue about how I did not know what they were talking about and they would counter that I did, indeed, know. The argument would quickly become absurd, well before we were out of the glow of the campfire. So I skipped the drama. It had played out too many times in the past to think it would end differently.

I stood up. I never failed to marvel that my aches and pains were not part of this forest. I had forgotten that I could be without pain.

Raven had gone on ahead of me. When Raven is in a rush, they fly. When our walks have a more casual purpose or they feel like jesting with me, they sit on my shoulder — usually the right one. Raven can be lazy that way.

But when the task at hand is a serious one, they walk. And when I say “walk”, they more strut and hop. When there are serious matters to discuss they always stay in contact with earth, with stone.

Our walk was filled with silence until we reached a wall of blackthorn. It stretched as far as the eye could see, right or left, as it rolled over the prairie.

Nice hedge, Raven, I said.

You think? I quite like it myself.

I can see why you might, I replied. Formidable. Protective. I touched the side of one of the numerous hard thorns. It was rigid and would piece even leather, given the chance.

Prickly, too, I added.

They would fuck you up if you tried to wade through that, said Raven.

I nodded in agreement.

So? I asked. Is that all? Are we here to inspect your thorny hedge for holes? I much preferred the fire.

Of course not, silly. I know there is a hole. Only one. A single hole.

Am I to find it? I asked.

Don’t be dense. Of course you are not going to try and find it. It is right there.

Raven hopped towards the hedge and, sure enough, there was a hole that I had no recollection of being there moments before.

Neat trick, I said.

I’ve got a million of them just like it. Just you wait.

I’m certain I won’t have to wait long, I assured him.

Probably not, he agreed.

The hole in the hedgerow was down near the dirt, just sitting there. There was nothing particularly inviting about it.

So, I said, we found your hole. Now what?

You know, said Raven.

This again.

I seem to have forgotten, I reply. Can I have a hint?

Certainly, said Raven. But only because I don’t care to listen to you mutter as you try to recall what you are to do. You know you mutter when you are ‘thinking out loud’, right?

I sigh. Raven mirrors my sigh to mock me.

You need to go through, they said.

To go through? That? I ask.

I did not care for the idea, let me tell you. As I said, the thorns looked outright murderous and I was still enjoying being pain free.

Yes. On your gut now. Shimmy through.

I would have argued with them, but that always end up the same. I always end up doing what Raven tells me I must do no matter how long we argue.

So I crouched down at the hole in the hedgerow and laid myself flat on the dirt. At first I thought I’d look ahead, as if I was doing a modified army crawl, but was quickly dissuaded by a long scratch down the center of the top of my head. I could just clear the thorns if I turned my head to the left or right. And it was a long passage from one end to the other.

I hoped there were no bends in the hole that I had to navigate.

Laying so, I pushed myself along with the tips of my toes with my arms down by my sides. It seemed for hours that I inched my way along, but it was already close to dawn when I started, so it could not have taken long at all.

Wet loam smeared against my cheek and I almost gave up when the shadows lightened. I kicked my toes harder and with renewed vigor. Soon I was clear of the hedge and into what passes for daylight on the other side.

Raven was waiting.

Good job, they said. A little slow, but you made it. I’m almost proud of you.

Almost?

Only almost.

I wiped the dirt from the left side of my face, the side that had been against the soil since the other side, and felt for scratches on the other cheek. I was very surprised that my fingers were not bloody when I looked at them.

What was the point of that? I asked.

Birth, they said. You needed to be born.

Don’t you mean be reborn? I asked.

If I meant ‘reborn’, Raven said. I would have said ‘reborn’. You needed to be born.

I’m confused, I admitted.

Don’t worry, Raven said. You can sleep it off and you’ll be less confused in the morning.

But—

The rising sun’s flare blinded me momentarily. By the time I recovered, they were gone and there was an inviting-looking bed in the clearing beyond.

So I did the sensible thing: got up, brushed myself off and crawled into the bed before quickly falling asleep.