Watching It Burn

There is a story that Henry D. Thoreau alludes to in Walden, in the section he calls "House-Warming," about the time that he and a friend, Edward Hoar, accidently set part of Walden Woods on fire while they were cooking fish on their campfire. When Thoreau realized that the fight against the fire was futile, he found himself a good spot from which to watch it burn. There's also a passage in the second chapter, "Where I Lived, and What I Lived For," in which he imagines a similar scene:

If I should only give a few pulls at the parish bell-rope, as for a fire, that is, without setting the bell, there is hardly a man on his farm in the outskirts of Concord, notwithstanding that press of engagements which was his excuse so many times this morning, nor a boy, nor a woman, I might almost say, but would forsake all and follow that sound, not mainly to save property from the flames, but, if we will confess the truth, much more to see it burn, since burn it must, and we, be it known, did not set it on fire, -- or to see it put out, and have a hand in it, if that is done as handsomely; yes, even if it were the parish church itself.

This side of Thoreau has always struck me as one that gives a slightly different view of his personality. And maybe there is something in all of us that is drawn to the scene of the fire in part just to watch it burn. What troubles me is I'm starting to feel that way about so much of what's going on around me these days. It seems futile even to try to put out the flames. Might as well just stand back and watch it burn. And hope I don't get burned myself in the process.