A Fist Fire Outside

The moon looks a little past new, it’s late May and the sky is still orange from the just departed sun.

A few clouds hover but there ill be stars; the frogs in the valley are singing and the cat and I sit by the first outside fire of the spring.

Does that make it summer?

The smell of fresh mown grass lingers within the smoke from the fire, there is little breeze and the night is still.

A dog barks in the far distance and a spark jumps up to the heavens.