Making Fire

Elmer and I cruised through the park on the path along the creek. It was 6:15 in the morning. Thirty-seven degrees and frosty. The amount of beaver activity along this creek the past two months has been nothing short of astonishing. The lodge keeps growing and growing—now well over five feet tall! It must reveal something about personality that the most exciting thing in life is my daily visit to the lodge to measure its growth and possibly observe its builder in action. Yes, something is revealed, but what?

I saw movement off the path to my right, at the edge of the creek. I looked and saw a young homeless man on his knees breaking twigs and blowing on a tiny pile of sticks expertly stacked in preparation for a fire.

Presto! The pile ignited and flames appeared. The man kept blowing. More flames, but not that many. This fire was now burning 20 feet away from me.

Elmer and I have witnessed many a sight related to the homeless in the park on our morning walks (now going on 360!), but this fire was a first. The husky was curious about the fire and veered over to investigate. I stopped.

Something in me wanted to say something, but I had no idea what.

I wasn't worried about campfire catching the soggy riparian area on fire. In 30 minutes dawn would arrive and the man would put out the flames and go about his day.

He just needed that 30 minutes of warmth.

We continued walking. Twenty yards later, I smelled campfire smoke. I heard a crackle, too.

Six hours later, I saw a homeless woman in her 40s pulling a wagon full of branches down a sidewalk. The forecast called for freezing temperatures overnight.