Late last fall FPR&TF replaced the septic system, tank and ladder lines (drains) and left the "yard" a mess. Being out in the county means folks know that there is no point in doing the dirt-work cleanup until everything has settled, as in over the winter. Now we are well into spring (Kentucky) and it needs to be cleaned up, leveled, etc. One of the prep chores in anticipation of the work was disposing of the accumulated brush pile - a side effect of growing a small woods (think catastrophy if a fire broke out _in_ the woods.) I picked yesterday because the forecast was for rain, a safe guard I like when doing controlled burns. What follows is an excerpt from "Two Voices - Amalgamated Dreams unfinished paintings" ( https://pa2.freeshell.org/TVADPoetry/TVADUnfinishedPaintings.html ) Burning the Brush Pile I waited After a summer of stories spreading like wildfire burning drought scarring our lawns parching our lives I waited for this long gray day with its on-again off-again cold soaking drizzle this November evening the neighbors must think me daft to start fire in the rain the primordial spark then small tasting flame grows in a tinder hollow first beating breathing hungry heart of fire hunkering down sitting on heels shovel handle staff at hand willing the fire to live a human windward shield my back soaked the small light playing in early evening shadows sputtering, guttering twist licking turning small flames embrace dry branches dead leaves sizzle quickly burning the brush pile has begun there is no turning back as there is no turning back to place the limbs upon the trees more drizzle damp fuel placed upon the rising pyre steam wood smoke carried alee by not so gentle evening breezes as darkness encroaches the breadth of now involved fire lashes out brighter for the night a primal circle of light radiant heat contrasts the rain soaked side of me that faces from the flames chilled through to bone an unkind balance met now roaring in a wind whipped frenzy fly ash glows dancing high into clouded night blinking out circle light in darkness alone drawn across ages of silent sentries standing face front to warmth back to nightmares rising now beating back light cold rain this living ravenous ethereal entity calls out for greater sacrifice I will wait as the brush pile burns