You Want To Talk To Me?

My toes are positioned quite close to the merry little fire, and I'm enjoying the dry crackling and tapping and clicking of its voice, which, if you aren't fluent (and I'm not), sounds rather akin to Morse Code. One might almost contrive a belief that these flickering pillars of flame are trying to communicate to me: "Feed me, feed me, or else I'll die", "Such lovely wood, yes, lovely. I haven't had wood like this since yesterday. Yes, very lovely wood". Or perhaps they are pouring out to me the woes of their rather confined life: "I would so love to be in the forest, where there are lots of trees to play on and all those little bushes to consume... but poor me, I'm stuck in this little black box and I can only play with the toys that you give me, and only eat the food that you bring. don't you think you could let me out for just a little while? I promise I would only eat just a few little bushes... I promise not to even touch the trees or go anywhere near the house. Oh, please?" One might be able to imagine that these glowing fronds of heat are trying to tell you something important "Now, if you'll only give me that log sitting there. Yes, that one. I'll tell you all about this week and what it will be. but I can only whisper it in your ear so bring your head just little closer... ah, but it won't work through the glass so I suppose you'll have to find out about the week all by yourself." or maybe he's just telling me the news. "A spider climbed up my chimney last night and he got away before I could catch him. And then there was a little star, way far above that I stared at until in moved away, and by then it was too light to find another one... perhaps I shall see another one tonight". And of course he would ramble off until I got up and left, and then perhaps he would talk to his door and ask him what he thought of the spider, and why he hadn't had the sense to block him out before he got in.