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Poem

We sit in the forest, admiring the trees, my dog and I.
The roosters behind us are in full racket form.
A dog barks, gruffly and hoarsely.
My dog does not look up.

I have stacked the pile high
Every box has blue tape or a black curvy arrow
Twenty-nine Amazon boxes, 
Broken down, sitting askew in my fire pit.
I see a bit of smoke.
Hear a subtle pop.
A whirl of gray smoke begins to emerge from the top of the pile.

She will soon be a rip roaring bonfire.
With intense smacking noises, and a savage fierceness 
She is beginning to make her fire sounds now
The flames are rising into the air
The most beautiful orange and black dance
With gray highlights begins 

I smile as she jumps up to meet the air in waves. 
We soar together, the fire, the dog, and I.
The wind that was undetected a few minutes ago 
Is moving around quickly and abruptly now.
I move my chairs three times to get out of her smoky way

She jumps up with happy delight every time
I shovel a bag of dry leaves into the fray
I look down once, to see if she missed my clothes.
Expecting to have to drop and roll.
Disappointed that I do not have to.

The dog and I are silent, reverent, as we
Listen to her chew the leaves up with loud smacking happy sounds.
She is a small volcano now, popping and cracking her way 
Through undistinguishable leaf piles.

The smoke is spiraling in a gentle wave
Smoke is in my nostrils
The savageness begins
The pyro side of me smiles

The impatient side jumps out of the chair
And heads toward the pyre with match in tow
We light three more boxes
We want our bonfire now.
She does not disappoint.

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