Once again the flame burns. Dazzling, dizzying flame. A cold night does not kill the energetic dance but rather seems to feed it, encouraging it to sing and flicker like a serpent's tongue. So strange, that the fuel feeds up into the rain drop flame with mechanical precision, maintaining its curvy body with such astonishing geometric symmetry, as if the language of God were coded into the expression of all matter, secretively held in the very shape of the burning orange light.