For those who read a few paragraphs of the first chapter, here is another page:
I thought, Wait ‘til I tell people about this! They won’t believe what I’m
seeing.
But
then a wind came up, and with it the pungent odor of burning wood . . . and
soon, carried on warm currents, a couple of charred twigs that whirled past,
above our heads.
Suddenly, without a
word to any of us, eight-year-old Jimmy Deetz grabbed a shovel and ran to a
nearby patch of grass and beat out tiny flames.
Flames? But from where? I wondered. No flames
had come near us, only a few blackened twigs.
Then Laddie,
seven, found a discarded broom and pounded another sparking weed. I stared at
them, amazed. Two farm boys used to hard work. Nobody asked you to do this. But you found them all, I thought, there won’t be any more.
For a moment part
of me backed away and in my imagination I saw the fire as a drama, a story I
would write someday. Even as I envisioned words on paper, the truth dawned, hit
me so hard I gasped: This is how fire
travels.
Sure enough, the
boys beat down more tiny flames, then ran with their tools to pound others.
I looked around. Oh God, tiny flames are everywhere, like a
swarm of mosquitoes. Suddenly their efforts seemed futile. What’s the point of what they’re doing? They’ll never stop the fire with a
broom.
Yet there they
were, two kids imprinted on my memory.
The wind blew ever
harder. When smoking embers landed at my feet, my mood changed. The fire had
crept closer, and now here it was, circling like a panther, threatening to end
my ten-year-old life.
We're all so busy, I won't be posting again until after New Years. My wish for all of you is that these holidays prove to be happy--and yes, peaceful. And my thanks to all of you who have been faithful readers. I wish I could meet you all in person. Maralys
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