The shadows of the leaves on the fence tell me there is a breeze outside. But the tree must be using all of the wind because I feel not the slightest movement of air outside. I finally recycled that blackened heap of tree trimmings in the back yard after avoiding it entirely for the last year or so. The pile had become taboo inasmuch as my last attempt to torch it using gasoline ended badly for me.
Just for those of you who are interested California gasoline is more explosive than normal gasoline which causes it to ignite more explosively and with more force than normal gasoline. I can barely write about the horror of seeing a plume of flame jump from a tossed match underneath the wrist band of a long sleeve shirt and melt my skin hither nither on its way to my shoulder.
What seemed like a rational use of an flamable liquid to ignite a simple fire becomes utterly insane and ridiculous in the retelling. Thus I cleanse my soul of this particular act of stupidity and give thanks that the scars have blended nicely into my complexion giving me that "he's been around awhile" look.
Since I began writing this post I took time out to watch a television show and now I see that the breeze that was moving the tree has moved on and left only shade where shadows of leaves appeared before.