The lithe girl was handed a torch by her father, which seemed poignant and appropriate. It was formerly a substantial silver maple branch downed by a storm, resurrected for noble duty.  Stuffed with coco liner remnants from an aging flower basket and wrapped in twine, it was doused in fuel and lit. She reached for it hesitantly, and then with growing certainty. The flames swathed her face and it glowed in the dancing light, mussed hair falling about her shoulders and framing her bright eyes: ... View Post