The burn pile was burnt Saturday evening. I was hoping to see a hellaciously huge towering inferno, unlike I have ever seen before, but it wasn't like that really. Look at the size of this burn pile...
It's big. Dog silhouette is the scale. Dog = 2.5 feet
I didn't take enough pictures of the fire. This one doesn't illustrate how it did not spread, to the untrained eye. It ate through just one section of the pile, and the rest of the brush, including huge limbs, had to be untangled and then thrown directly into the Ring of Fire (for the Johnny Cash fans). It burned like this because it had rained pretty heavily about an hour and a half before it was ignited. I guess. And the next day...
It's a straight shot down the fairway. Par 3 for the win. With the smell of charred pine still detectable in the air, a wayward wanderer approached the scene.
She wandered through the charred remains of where her childhood home once stood. Searching for any sign to indicate that once a proud and noble family had lived here. It was utter desolation. An identity had been stolen from her. She eventually trod away from her impoverished identity and transitioned with remarkable placidity, assuming a position she had once practiced, oceans away, in a remote ashram in Dharamsala; a saving grace...
the single yoga pose, Adho Hind Svanasana, the Buttward Facing Dog. She held this pose for 3 seconds and was rejuvenated.
And that's the story of the burn pile. It sat there for like, 3 years and it was burnt down to the ground in a matter of hours. I'll remember you burn pile, I'll remember... you.
0 comments:
Post a Comment