The first fire, after the flames have burnt out. Embers shimmer in the darkness, little pops of fiery heat glow, like lightening bugs’ momentary illuminations at night. Beneath the embers, the ground is scorched, but not scorned. This small circle of primal, damp earth exudes it’s heady, mineralic fragrance more profusely now that it has been fired. From beneath the top layer of damp soil, emissions emerge and we slowly smell the thick, muddy, nutrient rich intensity of rich soil that extends for miles beneath us. The ancient wood of petrified pines still contains traces of the hot, dry smoke that snaked from this blaze, and as these trace amounts of grey vapor slip around and over outstretched branches, the pines exhale some memory of how they once were when living. Aged oakwood exudes a scent that is sweeter, and less cooly piquant than the pines, as if there is something of the fresh nut or leaf in its not too distant memory. This activated landscape receives a heavy fog, which seals in all these subtle elements as it hovers over damp earth darker than the shadow of the night. As mysterious and primeval as the earth itself.