fire_pit tender_square the bottom of the base was runoff filled and mixed with ash and bits of blackened wood. i swept with a tiny wire bristled broom and dumped the residue into a bucket. he layered the fresh wood on the grate in a weave, two bottom horizontal, two top vertical. the brick of sticky starter wouldn't light. the paper packages ripped to kindling burned and curled. the wood was dry. the wind coughed intermittently. i got up from the lawn chair and snapped branches and twigs across my thigh, across my midsection, and placed within the basket. what had fallen from surrounding maples—shed pieces of bark and insecure fingers—was the only fuel that burned. and in their quick combustion the lacking logs eventually ignited before a sudden evening rain came and dampened what roared. 230331 what's it to you? who go blather from