oklahoma 1:3

Driving through the night, toward another failed rendevous with the children's mother, we passed through a pair of fields, on either side of the road, covered with burning manure. The shit glowed orange in the darkness and the mounds burned out from within, forming caverns of low fire. No one seemed to be tending the burning. Some farmer had set it and gone home to bed, but it looked like it had set itself, like the secret world of manure going while the people world slept. Jack, who had been chanting a rhyme, Lives in a House with a little tiny Mouse, fell silent as we went through the smoldering gauntlet. He stared out the window, transfixed. His silence, which continued after the fields were lost behind us in the darkness, seemed mournful.

move on...