Wednesday night in Point, Tx.
Weather was chilly-perfect. I’d gathered up fallen limbs that had been knocked down by the past few storms and finally lit them off. Stared at the fire and thought, and didn’t think. Depending.
Took a while to burn and I watched it. Not much happened except every so often a piece would break, or roll. Or a tuft of grass would burn for a bit then go out.
I guess I’m an odd bird — I don’t get bored and I don’t get lonely. I can go days without talking to anyone (dogs don’t count) and not really notice. Admittedly there are shortcomings to this approach but I find them preferable to noise and chaos.