The Burning

Earlier this month, while driving around in my big ole SUV (which I love and inherited from my cousin, who is off in Germany being a good little wifey-poo) I noticed that the the tops of many of the trees were a gut-wrenching orange-yellow-crimson cocktail of fall color. It's been a while since I've experienced a West Michigan fall, and I think I actually moaned at how pretty it was.

Of course, my Great Escape, the fantasy story I'm writing, was hovering over my shoulder. I turned to it, and said, "You know, Torin's from a tropical area. When he gets farther north, I bet it's fall. I bet the people there call it 'The Burning' and have really wild harvest festivals. I bet they have death rituals and lilting dances to haunting melodies."

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how ideas come.

A few days ago, my dad locked his keys in his car at a Meijer in Lowell. I'd never been out to Lowell, and on the way back, we took back roads along farms carved out of the woods. It was about 6pm, and had that nice honey-colored late afternoon sun that seems to last all day in the fall. I took out my phone and took a video of the drive. And now here it is, for you!

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