Ruthless

 Julia had dumped a lot of the stuff from the attic in the covered area we call the donkey shed (because there really were donkeys here once; I've seen them in photographs taken forty-five years ago) and yesterday I put everything in the heap that wasn't made of glass or metal on the bonfire. I was gratified by my own ruthlessness.  Orange flames against a blue, cloudless, February sky.  I'd have taken pictures if I'd have had my camera with me.