sitting by the fire

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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.

 

 

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