It was lunch time, and my stomach was reminding me that I only had a protein shake for breakfast, and it complained about the smell of BBQ that was coming in thru the open window on the breeze.
BBQ in the afternoon? Whatever. Ron is at home on Tuesdays; maybe it’s him. He likes to make fires. Sure is an interesting spice, though. But whatever. Time for lunch.
I turn off the lights and pull the patio door shut. I say goodbye to the dog. I lock the door. And I walk out the the car. … What’s that smoke over there?
I walk over to the side of the house and peer around the corner. The smoke is gone now, but there at my feet the landscape timbers along the foundation of Alex’s house are on fire. No flames leaping into the air, but they have been burning long and hot enough that they are white with orange glowing embers that flare up when the breeze kicks up. And today is a windy day, and the embers light up, traveling down the timber fast enough that I can watch. And there are dry pine needles for mulch inches (no, millimeters) from the bright orange at the margins of the fire.
I grab the bucket, fill it with water, pour it on the fire which hisses and sputters just like a campfire. I do this three or four times, because the timers are rotting and the fire is burning inside the wood. I kick the timber apart and pour on more water, and the fire hisses at me again. I do this until I can put my hand against all the wood.
Good thing I work at home, because otherwise there likely wouldn’t have been one when I got back.