Kathy Bradley - A slow burn leads to rebirth

The evening sky is streaked with high pink slashes. The backyard is littered with the first fallen leaves, palm-shaped platters skittering in the breeze. Under the canopy of the sawtooth oaks, acorns the size of plums litter the ground awaiting the hungry deer who leave footprints that look like hearts in the aftermath of their banqueting. The stillness and the quietness are mesmerizing and I could sit here in the waning light for hours if I did not have a job to do.

In a metal bucket set safely on concrete, I make a fire. The fuel for the fire and the object of the fire are the same. I am disposing of some documents, documents from another time, another life, and, while shredding such things is the currently preferable way of disposal, I do not have a shredder and, now that I have gotten