A re-post harking back to the final days we spent in our last house, where a man could potter in a shed and burn logs in a firepit.  For fun.

As quiet closes end of day

When evening’s calm has gripped us

I set a fire and in it lay

Dried logs of eucalyptus.

A billowing blue smokiness

And flames begin to dance;

The leaves and trees stand motionless,

No breeze to break their trance.

The silence of the setting scene

Occasionally lifts

From traffic from the A19

And screeching of the swifts.

Of all the ways I might desire

To welcome dusk’s descending

I’d choose this garden and this fire;

There is no better ending.