The wood fire brings such good cheer to the bach as heavy rain drums on the roof. The walls warm up and the whole room turns toasty. When I tried photographing the flames, to my surprise, many of the photos displayed faces. I remember as a child seeing faces and dancing figures in our old open fire in Taranaki. The first story I ever published (in the school journal) was about an old woman gazing into a fire and seeing her whole life playing out there. Now I am gradually becoming the old woman, and the faces have appeared.