As I lay awake in bed last night, a fire was lit in my mind.

As I lay awake in bed last night, a fire was lit in my mind. It was sudden, but it flared with such ferocity, it was as if myriad hands had been at work with twig and branch, flint and tinder, all to spark the flame that would illuminate the dark recesses of my mind.

I know these hands; bold hands, bruised hands, hands that bear calluses earned through year upon countless year of struggle and strife. These hands that planted, these hands that built. These hands that were now cupped in thanksgiving and supplication, now raised in praise and exaltation, these hands that are even now bathed in the warm glow of the blaze they laboured to fuel.

My hands.

As I lay awake in bed last night, a fire was lit in my mind, and it will not be put out.