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Jim Kacian

it happened again

last night, the way it always happens—i slivered some tinder for the fire, then ramped it up into an ardent blaze that lit the undersides of the leaves. i warmed some food over the flames, ate it slowly and with attention. i washed out the pots and stared into the fire, watching the sparks rise and fall and finally go black against the black sky and earth. i felt the cool come in over the water on the winds. i listened to its white noise. i listened.

camping alone one star then many