We stopped by my parents’ house tonight
and my dad made his first fire of the season.
It’s an annual tradition,
reserved for the first truly crisp fall night.
For him, it’s one of the great joys in life.
And to ensure he is always prepared,
he keeps a neatly stacked
pile of fresh wood steps from the door.
I think he builds the best fires ever
because of his deep appreciation
for the warmth and wonder
they cast upon
an otherwise ordinary room.
