To the sunnaway, run.
He breathes a vision into souls, he lights a long burning wood match and I suck the sulfuric odor into my tasting mouth.
Flaring nostrils for the faded pungeancy, widening eyes to the toss of flame into the beautiful chilly night campfire.
I gathered and placed the cracky sticks and dry leaves.
He nods a genteel smile and his eyes seem to wink.
We turn to face the warmth, listening to the after dark world of home crickets, restless dogs, sirens, and traffic.
Moments pass. A log crackles and dips its black-orange ember glow into the fire and ash.
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