The swamp is cast in the shadow of night. Cold and stillness blanket the trees and quite water.
A spark ignites at the edge of a log, ignited by some whim of a fallen star. The spark dances and grows, searing the shadows and bringing light and warmth to the inanimate wood.
It travels in a meandering pattern to the other end of the log. Finally, it burns no more, receding into the ash of it's own creation. All is shadow again.