I was a pretty small fire at the time.
He was cute enough and we weren't too uncomfortable at first.

He did an ok job bringing firewood for a little while,
But then got lazy and started tossing in trash.

I wondered what was wrong with him.
He seemed so petty, diminished by smalltalk and the drink.

The wind picked up after he passed out, and a piece of me touched the tire he was sitting on.
Black smoke billowed invisibly into the night.

With an animal howl, he rocketed upward, trailing a tigertail of flames.
Pin stripes of fire painted the darkness with animated zest.

Bewildered and incensed, he tried to run, to yell the fire out.
He stomped and screamed and threatened the fire.

But, no matter what he tried, he only succeeded in feeding me!
How ironic that I once fed him, evidenced by his discarded can of beans.

It feels strange to be in two places: safe in my stone circle, and at the same time burning the running man's pants!

Finally, he seems to wake up, and dives headlong into the mud.
Rolling in the filth, he extinguishes my better half.

Like a cowboy who has just ridden a bull made of embers,
He rushes me with his charred chaps framing scarred buttocks.

He tries to look fierce, but I see the terror in his eyes.
Nearly upon me, he tries to dodge the forgotten tire!

He trips and falls across my circle, and I am nearly extinguished;
Then I am upon him once more and we become one large symphony of heat and sound and light,
Stretching through the restless night.

P.s.

The Tyger
By William Blake

Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp,
Dare its deadly terrors clasp!

When the stars threw down their spears
And water'd heaven with their tears:
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger Tyger burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

William Blake has nothing on you Naga............much prefer your prose

Sandy Clark wrote:William Blake has nothing on you Naga............much prefer your prose

The pissed off dragon opens one eye to acknowledge your kindness. She turns, tiredly, toward the bushes nearby and takes a deep breath. Without further ado, an enormous belch of fire erupts from her grimacing snout and obliterates the local flora & fauna.

Well the pissed off Dragon will need that energy to get through the next phase and relocate once again........me thinks!!

Sandy Clark wrote:Well the pissed off Dragon will need that energy to get through the next phase and relocate once again........me thinks!!

Yes!!

Incidentally, you would not believe what happened today.
Since the FBI gentleman on the telephone Friday said medical marijuana won't bring the police down on one's head in Washington state, and I'm already looking at eviction (if my retarded landlord spends the money, assuming he didn't already bribe the sheriff lol) , I decided to do like my neighbor Brian and toke in the restroom for once.

I was pretty careful re: the smoke going out and not up, but when I flicked the ashes toward the crack of the window, the huge cherry of the pre roll fell out and rolled down the roof toward the gutter.

It lodged in a pile of leaves and started smoldering about 12" from the gutter right up against the outer wall, lol.

I was sort of frozen in place, then looked farther thru the window, and saw the Russian chic next door watching all this happen. It was so embarrassing & I had the idea to fill a water bottle and spill it down the roof toward the burning stuff.

Eventually it just went out by itself, but we almost had a Bellagio right here in Walla Walla.