The scar was a memory of a fantasy land. The only physical proof I had that the memory I was so fond of was real. A memory of the days where I could connect to nature with the innocence of childhood. If the scar was not there I would most likely think the memory was a dream.
The memory was born from a camping trip with a childhood friend at a place I can only remember as 'White Rock'. The wilderness became our playground and it was only then in my life that I really began to appreciate the simple freedoms of nature. We were situated almost right next to the river and spent most of the daylight hours there. Our playground was split into three sections. The first being the decent sized waterfall that created a spa bath at its base where a round rough groove had been carved into the stone, where you would place your feet to grip against the current of the waterfall. Very relaxing. The second section was the 'jumping rock', about 100 metres downriver from the waterfall, where the water at the base of the cliff was deep enough to take the plumet of about 10 m high (from what i can remember anyway, it could have been higher) and feel yourself fly through the air. The feeling still comes back to me even now and I still long to feel the air of our wilderness playground whoosh past my body. The third section was a further treck down stream where a natural water slide had been formed. I had never seen anything like this before and it quickly became a favourite novelty of the river for me. We all know how great slides were when we were little, they never got old. Imagine a naturally occuing and FREE water slide!! These were the delights of our dangerous freedoms of childhood. So much could have went wrong, but we didnt care. Young, naive and ignorant. It's ironic that we were never hurt on these amazing adventures of ours with minimal adult supervision.
I was sitting in front of the fire one night, transfixed by the flames. (You see I connect to fire. My nature is one of fire- warmth and light but also destruction. Hence the name fleeting child of fire.) My friends parents and siblings were with us and we were enjoying the nights atmosphere. Her parents cautioned us of the fire often. It hadn't occurred to me that as the night went on I was being drawn closer and closer to the fire. Whether it was just the warmth beckoning me from the cold night air or just the spirit of the fire itself enticing me, I'm not sure but the ambers that were floating in the air looked like innocent fire flies. Until one landed upon me and melted down along the skin of my chest until i was able to flick the hot amber off. The pain of being burnt is such an intense feeling. It makes the memory all the more intense too.
Still tracing my fingers along the scar now I'm greatful for being burnt in life. Pain teaches us far much more then pleasure ever did.
