The air hits me, a tinge of avarice...  those gay holiday spices.

Immersed in the fire, transfixed on a single ember,

A big ruby of an eye, 

Pure mind, nostalgic state of consciousness... maybe its the

Cedar smoke; it takes you back to that huge house, you know the place.

The place where nothing mattered, you could run naked &

Dance

Scream

Whisper

and you would receive nothing but smiles.

"How do fish sleep?" says a cousin...

Vapid nonsense,

Any speech, any noise is pesky, you just want to remain untouched in this clear state.

Rangy Poplar fingers, with their blackened joints riddle with arthritis

Curl and straighten in the inferno, are they trying to stretch?

Are the logs in pain? maybe they're screaming at the top of their lungs, being burnt alive 

And they receive nothing but vacuous stares.

You look up at the heavens, your face cooked by the heat

And think to yourself

Time spent in front of a fire is never wasted.

Fall has sprung. I love the first day at the end of the summer when

"Rabbit's clever," said Pooh thoughtfully.
"Yes," said Piglet, "Rabbit's clever."
"And he has Brain."
"Yes," said Piglet, "Rabbit has Brain."
There was a long silence.
"I suppose," said Pooh, "that that's the reason why he never understands anything."

The Tao of Pooh

"Madame, all stories, if continued far enough, end in death, and he is no true-story teller who would keep that from you."

-Ernest Hemingway

I have the same bike, 

same vintage, same

color. It's a small

world.

Dennis

**** 9231.

People are very into their bikes in Boise... If the phone number hadn't been torn out then maybe I would know who to call if my bike is ever stolen!