May 27, 2010
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A pyro, that’s what I am…

My dad.

Stacking logs and
Building tepees,
With newspaper to light.
I poked the fire with large sticks,

Swinging them around,
I pretended they were airplanes,
Being shot down.

My parents say to me,
“Be careful Josh.”
After telling me again,
I threw the stick into the fire.

Being older now,
I create a log cabin fire,
Or a random design.
I fill the fire pit with logs,
A bunch of newspaper and other things,
That will catch easy.
As I light the fire,
I can smell the scent of
Oak, Pine, Cedar, or Birch wood.
As the fire blazes to what seems sky high,
I can see and hear my success,
Rising high above.
The fire, being the last of the weekend,
My dad and I piled as much wood as possible.
This is the biggest yet…
Burning so hot, as if in a sauna,
We had to step back at least 10 feet.
The flames were burning red and orange,
With blue at the bottom.
As the fire winds down with the night,
I think to myself,
Wow, what a pyro I am…

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