Of Smoldering Wood and Blackened Photographs...

Ever walk through your city at night and smell something burning? I don't mean that gentle, nostalgic smell of fireplace that makes us think of Fall and rosy cheeks and sweaters. I mean something burning. Tonight the air was pungent and thick with smoke and my eyes almost watered as I walked through the dark wet of my neighbourhood. Somewhere close, someone's house was burning down and I smelled it like a voyeur, breathed in someone else's misery uninvited and unasked. Tragedies that flame never get to be private.

When I got home, my house was still standing and, at the end of the day, that's really all I ask.

[If you feel vaguely unfulfilled by tonight's musings, listen to "Yes! I Am A Long Way From Home" by Mogwai while sitting in front of a window alone in the dark and perhaps it will fill up the spaces I have left.]