Gyroscope Review 16-4 - Page 53

 A crackle of burnt sticks in the center of a wide, flat circle of dirt; a black eye on the brown meadow. A drought, a summer of no rain has everything taking its last breath and we are no different. You bend over the fire, its heat matching the dirt’s heat coming up through sandals, which show toenails thick with mud. Another day marked by the turn of the earth, like a wagon wheel turning in soft sand. I have always hated the sun; but I have always loved the fire. Gyroscope Review 16-4 Page 4! 3