.“We didn’t become humans when we invented tools,” “We became human when we looked at the person sitting across the fire and began to tell stories.”
Flames burn and wrap around the darkness between us,
the light of the tree that once lived is re-igniting in its renewed since of purpose.
A single word is carried over the blue-grey smoke,
over the fragile distance,
something shifts in evolutions curve.
The heart is given a voice, a new song-
to then tell the stories that should be told.