You know what I miss the most about the midwest? (besides the family)
The smell of burning leaves. Technically, you shouldn't be doing it in your backyard. But my folks are cool about it. And quite frankly, it'd take a serious busy-body to complain. You're suppose to bag it up and put it on the curb for the leaves collector to grab it. I rather toss it into the fire. Watch it return back to the skies. And the smell. Unbelievable. Fire is cleansing. I've watched enough murder mysteries to realize the absolution of burning evidence. To me, fire should be the only way to go out. Burning alive, obviously is no good. But being cremated back to the basic core of what we are...fantastic. We share a lot with the pig. I think we'd all smell like cooked bacon in the oven. Which, if I could leave a lasting impression, nothing like that smell.
Sorry that got grim. I love the cold brisk air with the wet leaves smell. The silence of suburbia as a morning rain falls on the grass. It's gearing to shut down for the winter. Slowing people down to appreciate a good fire.
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