For most of us, in particular the males of our species, the universe is not decaying at a rapid enough pace. We do our best to accelerate the chaos and demolition. And, I will admit, if fire is the chaos of choice, you can count me in.
Yesterday, my mountain
neighbors, Patrick and Mary, burned two large stacks of deadfall they gathered
last fall from the forest understory on their parcel. Not wanting to miss an opportunity to poke at
a big winter fire, I drove up to my cabin and later joined them beside the
flames.
In matters of winter combustion,
I am convinced bigger is better.
Thankfully, Patrick and Mary also adhere to this principle. The first fire proved spectacular. We are talking about ten-foot flames
scissoring at the sky. Intense heat
squirmed out in all directions.
On the molecular level this
kind of bonfire is something akin to a riot at the end of a soccer match
between Venezuela and Brazil. And it
doesn’t matter which team won because, frankly, the other team was dismantled,
and angry fans pour into a spectacular melee on the field to engage, while
others flee over, under, and right through all obstacles in the way to
escape. On a human scale, well, is my
shirt smoking and about to burst into flames?
I am pretty proud of my neighbors. They know how to do a fire.
Big Fire
Falling Snow and Bristol (the
Dog)
Patrick and a Hole in the Snow
(After the Fire)
The Creek (Near the Fire)
—Mitchell Hegman
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