fire

Lately, I have encounter fire on far too many occasions.

A few weeks ago I accidentally caught my scarf in the flame of our gas stove. It was cotton so I could smell it and the fibers quickly dissipated and I realized what was going on in time to out it.
No damage done.

Tuesday, there was a fire a few miles northwest of town. A man's barn/workshop caught on fire. There were no injuries and the fire department quickly outed it.

That same day, as I was cooking once more, at a safe distance, I felt heat and smelled the sizzle of my sweater on fire. It was quite strange because it was in the pit of my sleeve, on the interior, that it was burnt. I don't even know how that happened. I think that I just am failing at grasping the concept of not having the oven on full blast. For many years we had an old stove and this was standard practice, and in Savannah it was always electric, so this wasn't a problem either. I guess it is just adjustment to make.

Fire, today, was a bit different. I smelled smoke as I peddled into the driveway coming home from the shop. It mixed with the sent of the lilacs and made a sweet musky combination. Dad was on the patio and had a fire going in our fire pit. It was a great welcome home. After the brothers and mom arrived we sat around it catching up from the day's activities. What a good afternoon.