On hot days like this, I like to sit outside with a lemonade and think of my old home in the Palisades; Rolling hills, trails I used to walk with Natsuke, wading down streams—Going to old man Joseph’s and sharing a beer; Of course, I was 12 and wasn’t allowed but Joseph thought every boy had the right to a beer every once in a while.

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  When I was older, Nat and I would sit by the stream and talk, right near Joseph’s, who’d yell jokingly sometimes and talk to me about his life as a fisherman in Islamorada.

  But It’s all burned now. Joseph’s house reduced to the chimney and Nat’s less. Nat called me and told me that Joseph couldn't part with leaving and died in the fires, reduced to charred skeleton.

  Whenever I think about that I get out a beer.