Today I watched a house across the street burn. It's still burning now, high leaping flames casting orange on layering smoke and encircling trees. The smoke sits above everything like a ceiling. And the trees almost seem like they've neared the fire, leaning into it to warm themselves.

Early this morning, people arrived with a backhoe to bring the house down. Just as soon as they got the porch beams down, the house collapsed in on itself. It was its time to go I guess, though I hate to see it. Since then, they've been burning it away. The house, which was once owned by my mother's family, was never that big and has been abandoned for years. There shouldn't be much more burning for it.

I used to have dreams about living in that house. Honestly, I never ever gave it a second thought while awake, but asleep... I guess a dream of one old house is a dream of all old houses.

While watching the bonfire, I finished another "episode" for a story I'm working on, W. T. For Short. I have no idea how many "episodes" there'll be. It could easily be something lengthy, but the story is mainly farce and folly of some that puzzle and perturb me.

In a moment, I'm going to work on a novel, see if I can't finish a chapter -- at the very least move it closer its end. I've taken a break while eating and researching Cuban Sandwiches. The research made me too hungry.

  ¶ 8:34 PM