Three Sticks

I pushed the button to close the garage door and was careful to step over the sensor beam that would jerk it to a halt and send it up again. I put one foot on a pedal and let gravity carry me down and out of the drive-way while I crossed the other leg over the seat. I was surprised by how few street light this subdivision actually has. Half the time I was riding in complete darkness, let alone the blindness that came when I got to the construction.

Rows of empty, half-built houses.

I wondered to myself why the more completed ones had lights on inside here and there. Is this to keep people away at night, or are there already a horde of homeless dwelling in these homes until more lucrative habitants can afford them?

I made my way to a huge hill created past civilization where extra dirt was discarded. Having been assigned this position for some time now, the huge mound, some thirty feet high and a hundred yards across, had grown to resemble the dried and beaten grassland surrounding it. The thought of snakes crossed my mind. In the dark I made my way to the top of the hill and carefully crossed it to the only place I had found in brighter times to bear any uniqueness. A rock pad in the ground lay just the perfect size to lay out on.

The stars were brilliant.

They're bigger here in Texas, you know.

I had filled my pipe as I walked with what I could make to be the second to last smoke this pouch would provide for me. It was odd to be smoking lying on my back, so that my pipe had to lay onto my chest at an awkward down angle for a drag. Sometimes the best place to see and talk to God is alone with a pipe.

As I lay there I heard a scream unlike any before. I sat up. In the distance, I could make out the sound a donkey or mule that must have been as close to death as possible from the shrill screeching to let out into the night sky. That was creepy.

Apart from the sounds, the atmosphere reminded me of camping out. Now sitting up, I looked down at my little rock floor, and the lighter in my hand. I grabbed a handful of dried grass and made a little pile on my floor. I lit it and it burned brightly for all of four seconds. I did this again, using the short burst of light provided to look for anything that would stay lit. I saw nothing. I got up, took a short walk, squatting down to look at anything not appearing to be grass or dirt. Within thirty seconds and to my own surprise, I found three sticks, each no more than six inches long and half an inch thick. I placed them as best I could atop a new pile of dried grass. The first was a failure. I tried again, this time thinking less fire building strategy, more simply to just get the sticks into the short-term grass flames. This was a better strategy when working on such small scale. The sticks slowly caught on to the idea, and the tiny fire made very sporadic shadow dances on the grass surrounding my rock.

As I sat trying to take in the fire's jig and the brightness of the sky, I designed a new technique for smoking my pipe. It was interesting to think I had never smoked in light drags, even though I'm sure its what has always been done by most.

The fire was healthy now, one not needing a babysitter to keep it up. In fact, every burst of wind blew the thought of loose sparks in dry grass into my mind. I needed to keep an eye on this little blaze. The sticks went from dancing with flames to a neon orange glowing as they writhed like worms under the burden of there distruction. The glow of their wood as it turned to charcoal faded slowly in and out, bright and dim. Eventuall, I took a fist-size stone and smashed up the remains of the wood, spreading it out into a thousand little glow worms in a black hill. As the glowing specks began to diminish in quantity, I searched upward and realized there was no moon out as far as my eyes were concerned. Back to the embers, I continued to crush them out, as well as using the only liquid on me, my spit, as an additional douser of the little lights. As the last few lights left, I followed.