On Building a Bonfire on the Beach

Had the wind not been in such a rage, it would have been a gloriously sunny day. As it was, Zephyr led the world in merry dance. A grandiose pasadoble, where somebody somewhere is bound to be bowled over. Gulls buffeted to stationary positions in the sky, the world a seaside craft shop. Waves falling over themselves, green with the effort of toing and froing keeping up with the blusters, the tide straining to get out. Cliff top daffodils ducking, they hadn't signed up for this. As the gorse chuckled its cocoa butter scent.
Not the day for a cliff top walk.
So, in an effort to avoid sand-blasting, I eat my sandwiches at the top, in a huff, sitting on an old boulder, even more embarrassing than driving to the beach and eating them in the car. I have the flask so I use it. Feet and knees stopping things blowing away. Monday early afternoon, but I get caught. I say hello anyway, bravado is always best in these situations.
I finish quickly and walk down the safer of the two cliff paths to the beach. It's too windy and freezing cold to walk today and I have an urge for a fire, so I turn back on myself and walk through the two mountainous sea rocks to the cove I spotted from the winding path down.
The wind is less fierce behind the rocks and I gather drift wood on the way to the most sheltered spot. It's still blustery even there, but it's quiet and there is driftwood everywhere. I think if I lived here I'd have a bonfire every night. I wouldn't of course, you never do the things that are on your doorstep. Wonder why that is? Recently, I've been doing just that. Stopped looking and found it right on my doorstep. Peace, sanctuary, beauty. Why is it still not enough?
I've brought the Guardian 'work' section and a box of matches. It's the last match when it takes and the flames lick the small wooden sticks. I add thicker ones slowly and surely, building it, encouraging it, seducing it. Then the wind catches it and sweeps it off its feet.
Fire is like love. Starts with a spark, smoulders for a while, then bursts up on you knocking you backwards. Makes your cheeks glow, but if you're not careful, it brings tears to your eyes. Then just when you sit back to bask in the peak of the roar, it dies down, needs feeding, more and more, with elementals, or it will go out. Forever. And if you're not careful all you'll be left with is a pile of black ash, blowing away in the wind, marring you, marking you, mocking you.