The air is light, fragrant. Smoke, curls high up into the trees. Our clothes will retain this smokey fragrance. We talk of everyday things. We talk of important matters. We may need to iron out a misunderstanding. Often we are silent, listening to the crack and sizzle and spitting sounds ’til a chill drives us inside.
The “now” intrudes. The fire pit is a metaphor. A talisman of days gone by. A reminder of the never again-ness of life without my best friend. The ache I feel is there still. It’s been four years.
