Kindleman sat. As he had always sat. In the dark, quietly.

Kindleman sat as the stars exploded into the night sky. He sat as the earth’s crust shifted and changed; erupting molten lava which shaped mountains and laid patterns across its surface. Kindleman sat while the earth became blanketed in ice. Then watched the ice melt into great oceans which divided the lands.

Kindleman sat and watched his gentle flickers create shadows on his cave wall. Those shadows entertained and comforted him. As the world changed and grew, Kindleman sat calmly, content in the darkness. Kindleman listened. For eons the only sounds that reached his cave were the sounds of nature flexing her strength. Thunderous claps of the earth severing, howls of cyclonic winds, the glutinous bubbles of melting earth, and the gentle shushing of oceanic waves.

As the skies lightened and the days became longer, those sounds were interrupted by the gulps of fish, the growling of beasts and the chirruping of birds. One day, Kindleman heard a sound unlike any other. A voice like a tinkling bell danced above nature’s calls and Kindleman’s stomach did an unfamiliar flip.

The tinkling was followed by others: deep booming commands, husky invitations and the continuous babble of many voices interweaving. As their intensity increased, so did the somersaults in Kindleman’s belly, until he could stand it no longer. Tentatively Kindleman stepped a toe outside his cave. It disappeared in the light. He wrenched it back inside and turned to the safety of his shadows. There his flickering body burned brightly in the darkness and created stories on the wall. But instead of the comfort he expected, Kindleman felt hollow. These were the stories of just one man, and a lonely imitation of the lively voices which danced on the wind.

Summoning his courage, Kindleman stuck his toe back into the daylight; pointing, scrunching and twirling it with all his might. Though it had disappeared, he could still feel it. Reassured, Kindleman stretched out his entire foot and looking closely, could just make out its dancing edges against the brightness of the day. Bravely he extended first one leg, then the other. Within moments he had completely stepped out of the cave.

Kindleman burned madly with excitement. Liberated by the light of day, his flames appeared as gentle, tender rays. He danced down the mountainside, drawn to the tinkling bell.

Through deep forests he followed its sound. Past babbling brooks, which became flowing creeks, then bulging rivers. At times the roar of the water drowned out the chimes that he followed, but he listened intently and raced towards their source with growing excitement. As the river widened and calmed, the musical lilt grew louder.

Kindleman’s stomach turned madly. Then it stopped, more still than he had ever known it. There she was standing in front of him: a human. The sun caressed her golden locks and dusted her cheekbones. It was if she glowed from within and when she opened her mouth, it was like an angel singing. Kindleman was mesmerised, watching the Golden Girl. Settling into a familiar pose he sat quietly for months, content to simply observe.

When the days grew dark, the village grew silent and the tinkling ceased. With no light there was nothing for its people to do but sleep. During the day they gathered plants for food. They ate raw fish from the river. But as winter descended and the fish and plants grew scarce, the people’s food dwindled. Though the villagers wore animal fur to keep them warm, they still shivered through the night. Without a way to cook, they became hungrier by the day.

Watching the Golden Girl lose her lustre, Kindleman felt compelled to help. One day, as she silently followed a lone rabbit through the forest, he stepped out from the trees. Against his warmth her shoulders relaxed, then tensed as the sound of his crackling closed in.

“Don’t be afraid,” said Kindleman gently behind her. “I have come to help.” The Girl turned slowly and stared at the shimmering apparition before her. “What are you?” she gasped. “I am Kindleman,” came the reply. “I have always been. Now I am here for you.” Kindleman and the girl walked for days. He showed her the secrets of fire and she inflamed his heart with her attention. Inspired by his presence, the girl deepened her inquisitive nature and discovered many things. She shared the secrets of fire with her Village and they celebrated with a winter feast. One day she shyly introduced Kindleman to another boy of the Village. Kindleman recognised his deep booming voice as one that had ricocheted around his mountain cave. He showered the boy with his sparks and watched his face came alive. He had been drawing, as usual, on the ground with a stick. Just as he finished, some children ran through his picture, reducing it to dust. He stood up and, as if seeing them for the first time, noticed his hands covered in charcoal streaks. He tried to wipe them clean but the more he wiped, the more the blackness spread. His eyes lit up. Taking some coal from the fire, the boy drew a line on the back of his hand. “A-ha!” he yelped. Picking up a piece of timber he drew on it too. Then he drew on a rock. Within days the village was covered in the boys’ illustrations and alive with excitement.

Having learnt to draw, people began recording instructions so others could develop techniques and pass them on. Through new forms of expression, the Villagers extended their creativity across all things. The weavers sewed in groups, fast enough to make clothes for all; the hunters worked strategically to catch herds of large beasts; the gatherers planned ahead and stored foods to last through the harshest of winters. The Village became immersed in song and dance, joy and beauty, and filled with abundance. While Kindleman walked among them, it flourished as never before.

As the Village magnified, so did the voices calling Kindleman. They grew louder and louder until he could no longer ignore them; his shadows beckoning from his cave. “Look, look Kindleman. Look at yourself,” they urged. Kindleman examined himself carefully and saw that he had become almost entirely transparent. Though his heart felt full and he was alive in more ways than he had ever experienced, in places he was completely invisible. He had shared so many sparks that he was fading away.

“I must return to my cave,” he told the girl. “But how will we live without you?” she asked. “You live by your own talents,” said Kindleman. “Now that I have shown you how to use them, you will continue to thrive and grow.” “But you are our inspiration,” she pleaded. “Without you we are nothing.” “And you are my expression,” said Kindleman. “Without you, I too am nothing. Together, we bring creativity to life and together we shall continue to change the world. For now, I must return to the solace of my caves and you must have time to express the fullness of your ideas. Whenever you need me, simply call and I will be here.” Kindleman returned to his cave and the girl to her Village where Kindleman’s promise was etched in stone. In those early years he visited often, inspiring endless innovations that rapidly changed the world. Many centuries have since passed and the world has come far. Often the relentless pace of technology and its shiny, new promises overshadow Kindleman’s cre­ative spark. For many it is all but lost and they wander blindly in the dark, bereft of ideas.

Yet hope still flickers while Kindleman remains. Should you need him, simply call. He will come: igniting inspiration and innovation, firing up our future, bringing creativity alive.