Very thankful to Darius Phelps, as always, and I couldn't help but respond with the backyard fire pit which I trimmed with a weed-whacker last night. Usually, this time of a year, it's a spiritual time to build a fire, burn fallen tree limbs, and to burn yard material needing to be scrapped. The warm days of spring with their cools nights make for such rituals...
...but the house is empty now. Times change, and this familiar is growing unfamiliar. Still, I like the sacrificial conversations we had on these nights.
The prompt seemed to take legs of their own. It's Saturday morning, and I am channeling what I wished was my Friday night. Here's to the weekend.
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