I used to entertain him by lighting candles over and over. He’d stare at the orange tinge mesmerized by its glow. He’d blow them out and we’d do it all over again. He’d wake up in the middle of night hoping for another fire. Only the wicks had cooled and embers had turned into piles of ash.
Nowadays we have an electric stove and the gas fireplaces aren’t lit by a wall switch. And we contain fires to the backyard. Peter will spend an afternoon collecting branches and twigs to make his pile grow. The larger the pile the longer the joy. I’ve learned my lesson about hiding kindling in the washing machine. And not to start a load of wash in the dark. Sometimes having a fire is Peter’s reward. And mine if I can incorporate s’mores. Not that I need a flame because I’ve learned that an electric stove makes them taste just the same. That charred part is overrated anyways.