When the final car left and he had the house to himself, he pulled his father’s truck out of the garage and took a drive around the farm. His father...did this each night as a way to get a feel for how the farm breathed. He had long believed that this land was like a living creature, and if you listened just right, she’d tell you a lot. So it was only right that he continue that tradition. Harold had been doing it since they died, but he had gone back to town tonight. The Ford was in pretty good. Well, not quite.Actually, a lot of the time, she hated it. It meant the end of sunny days and warm endless evenings with the heady perfume of late summer flowers.But she did love the leaves.It was the colours, I think. All those bright reds and oranges, twisting and twirling as the breeze wafted through the trees. They were warm colours, nature's last hurrah before the cold really took hold.And, of course, they were like fire.Fire.She loved fire; loved snuggling up beside a big open fireplace,. More

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