Tonight is one of those dreamy spring nights when a gentle breeze blows and the brillant blue sky turns pale waiting for dusk. The azaleas are blooming riots of hot pink, and white. The dogwoods are blooming before the leaves make an explosive entrance.
A perfect evening to enjoy sitting on the driveway watching the fire turn cold raw chicken into golden grilled delight. I should be writing, but I fear getting caught up in that fantasy relam and burn the chicken. Hmm I may burn it for blogging and not watching that sneaky little red man (fire).
Currently my chicken is morphing by fire alchemy into golden fire kissed supper. The little red man is content to follow my instructions but only while paying strict attention to his antics. It is in that moment of inattention that he dances into merry mischief and gets me into trouble. It seems tonight is going to be a great night and supper will not burn. Then later I will pick up my pen and lose myself for a while in that relam we, writers call home.