Letting it go
The bon fire bloomed great puffs of smoke and ash. It was beautifully made by James when he was up last week. We watched it burn and smoulder giving off heat, flames waving good bye as soon as they were born. The roses spattered as they turned black and disappeared. With whispers and crackles the pile of old logs and leaves died away.
As we look up to the sky we can see the underside of the roof of the out house. It is falling apart. Only this morning Ma was anxiously talking about the water that has come into the out house. She is worried. She would like it to be repaired. Dad tells her not to fret. It's doing no harm. The floor is concrete. Buddy and I stand dumbly by. We all know that to repair the out house would cost a great deal of money. After Dad has gone Ma won't want to be here all on her own. The rest of us do not want to live here. There is no point spending money on this beautiful house or the out house. It is dying like the embers of a magnificent fire. We watch it crumble.