Written by: Cyndi MacMillan

Driftwood you’d collected with such intent crackles and snaps by toes that spread in the summer sand like branches. Smoke lifts to the flushed moon as fire chars what was once neglected. Now, rekindled embers glow beside me.
> By Cyndi MacMillan, Oct 27,2012 For Nette Onclaud’s Views from a Vignette Contest *I have counted fire as two syllables.