The Memory Forge

Melissa sits too close to the fire, staring into the flames.  The logs crackle and shift, sending a flutter of glowing embers shuddering into the sky like fairies.  Behind her the other girls are running through twilight dew, clasping their hands around the fireflies that dot the clearing.

“Here,” Scoutmaster Jeannie says, handing her a skewered marshmallow.  “Make yourself useful.”

Melissa smiles up at her, dipping the plump, too-white blob into the flames.  Jeannie tips the edge of the skewer higher, so that the orange flame just barely licks the bottom of the marshmallow.

“Medium rare, if you please.”  She winks at Melissa.

Melissa’s daughter will roll her eyes at that one day, as well as the many stories and inside jokes her mother will relate from her days at Girl Scout camp.  But for now the fire of childhood is lit, and her memories are just being forged.

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