October fires

Sep 26

2 min read

From The Backpack

The fireworks of nature fade as darkness approaches. I step out onto the front stairs of the house, the metal upon metal slam of the screen door echoes through the neighborhood. With no particular destination in mind, I begin to wander through my little portion of the city.

The four walls in every room of the apartment are far too confining. I am looking for a release, and I find it, in the everyday tasks, the carefree world of children, the crystal clear sky, and the evening air.

Across the street, a gentleman walks along with his Dalmatian, pretending not to notice me. He pauses to light a cigarette, not so much sharing a moment with man’s best friend, but using it instead as an excuse to disguise his indulgence of a condemned pleasure. The dog looks up at me, then looks down, apparently finding the stick in front of him more interesting. Answering to a silent tug of the leash, he leaves his discovery to again race in front of the figure along the sidewalk.

I move slowly along, and cross the street after about 100 yards to enter a parking lot. In front of me, a fading chalk hopscotch outline invites me to skip toward the concrete and brick building beyond it. I turn to the left and cross a playground, where four by four wooden beams extend out from the shreds of old tires that pad the ground. I can still hear the laughing of the children who woke me this morning ringing in the air.

I spin around with my back now to a swing and sit, my arms curled around the chains and my hands in my pockets. The stars are out tonight. The shadowy arms of the surrounding oaks reach for the tiny sparks of light, as though chasing a dream or two of their own.

The cool breeze carries the aroma of the first fires of the season being lit. Not like those to be made in upcoming months for warmth, but fires with the wonderful smell belonging to a crisp autumn night.

The dog is on the opposite side of the road, heading the other way now. I glance again to the clear night sky, thinking maybe it’s time to go that way too. I stand, raise my hands to my jacket collar, and turn it up as I retrace my steps back home.