I am leaning out a window on the second floor. White curtains flap around my shoulders. A flagstone path leads to the door. I can't see. I can't see because a fire is burning in the next field.
Flames climb the sky.
Dark blossoms of smoke float by the window. Perhaps I've gotten it wrong. Perhaps I am really standing in the field in a widening circle of amber-blue heat, orbited by smoke. I feed it twigs, broken branches. Then whole trees collapse, are consumed.