It was a dark corner with hardly much space to find shelter but you could collect some dried sage and straw, twigs and garbage to make a small fire. The ruins of the house had stood there all the time Ross had been around. It had been a burned down building with just a few walls standing but the corner was the most sheltered from the south winds to build a fire to warm yourself up.

Ross had be homeless for several year and now and each time he arrived at this ruins he would come to this dark corner and build a precious little fire religiously, and sit by it warming his hands, till the embers glowed and died and the wisp of smoke would rise announcing the close of the ceremony. Then Ross would gather his odds and ends and shuffle off to the next ritual site on his circuit.

He pulled out a tattered box of matches and struck the match. The flame lit the dark corner for a brief moment and out of the corner of his eye he saw the dull gleam of metal. He wondered what it was as he reached for the coin lying on the floor.

“Must hav’ dropped out of Ol’ Henry’s trouser pocket,” he mumbled as he pocketed the quarter.

Tim Bhajjan