First Fire

Good day. Thursday.

It was a great day to work on a sermon, to call my mother, to read The New Yorker magazine, to finish a book, to take a late afternoon walk with Becky and then, after returning home where we made our first bonfire of the new year, to nestle together into the Adirondack chair and make passionate love under a canopy of stars.

(Actually, this last part in the Adirondack chair never happened, but since I do write the occasional romance story or novel, I still have to practice writing romance. How do you like the "canopy of stars" thing? It has chutzpah, don't it? And even though two people of our heft and body-fat ratios could probably give an Adirondack chair a go, if I were writing realistically, I'd probably throw a footstool and a stack of National Geographic magazines into the love scene to give it more potential and diversity . . . but hey, that's just me.)

But back to Thursday. Great day. And the evening was rounded out with some writing, including broadening an outline for a book I hope to work on this spring.

I hoped to read the newspaper before midnight, too. But then I realized this was the same newspaper I had used to start the bonfire. All those words . . . up in smoke.