Domestic warmth


He seized the base of the disintegrated log basket and thrust it into the fire.

She urged him to move over so she could also watch the woven cane blacken in the flames, then she ran for the camera.

He remonstrated with her as she opened the door and fire roared back from the gust of air: We don’t want a chimney fire.

She laughed.

He said, Don’t be stupid. You’ll melt the camera.

She said, Melt, schmelt. and took another photo.

He slammed the door on the flames.

She went off to download her photos, and two days later turned life into art with a small a.

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