Write about: the trail.
I shaved this morning for the first time in... months. I'm not actually sure when the last time was, to be honest.
Anyway, Max spent most of the rest of the day laughing at me. Hard to tell if it was because he was just so pleased to see me without a beard again, or if he just thinks I look funny.
Maybe I'll be able to give him a chance to get used to it.
From this vantage point the trail of black smoke rising up from the plains splits the horizon right down the middle. The air is so still this morning that the smoke does not wander left or right, it just reaches straight up. As though it is grasping for the stars or the moon, though they are long out of sight.
They were up there when the fire began, watching as the flames forced their way out of windows and onto the yard. There were a few moments there when it looked as though the blaze would spread to the neighbour's property but it clung to its source through calm currents and prayer.
It has been burning ever since, which surprises me I must say. I had expected it to have been brought under control long before I reached this overlook. The walk that brought me here was not a short one, nor had I hurried. But the smoke is as thick as ever and shows no sign of dissipating.
It would appear that I was not the only one who wanted that home to burn to the ground.