"The fire of the earth that man so often dreams of
and schemes of, is often a fire that can burn
in a way not expected."
Rain was lashing down. In the gloom against the wooden veranda
post, a momentary glare showed the face of a man as he lit a
cigarette. Then it was gone, nothing left to betray his presence.
The noise on the galvanised roofing, was constant. A continual
drumming, with veils of water, falling straight down, all along
the front of the building. Guttering was not a priority in such
an outpost of humanity.
Not a light out there, only palm trees and exotic shrubbery close
by, quickly blending into a blackness. It was this man's turn,
tonight, to stand out here, and wait. As it was every night this
week. The moisture got into everything, even the cigarette he was
smoking. It spluttered, and died. He hurled it out into the