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Fire in the dark night
glowing over those jack pines,
then dying embers, smouldering ashes
and grey smoke rising
in the flowing winds
releasing long memories,
the deep and slow ones.

There it is again,
that old smell of burning wood
wafting through the years,
purring at my heart,
and calling me home
from the far outposts
where I serve the
midnight watch.

By Michael Dallaire