I think it would be safe to say that on the third of July, we were in the very small minority of people living in Phoenix, AZ, to have a backyard fire. On purpose.
The sun was still out, the moon whispering to us about the night that had not yet arrived.
Cody and Carter were eager to light off fireworks but there was too much light left in the sky. (The decision was made to light off our small cache of fireworks on the third and to attend a firework show on the fourth). It was Carter who begged to have a fire in our firepot. And so, to kill time, I gave them the go ahead.
It was, of course, too warm to actually sit around the fire so we stood at a distance and admired. Our dog, Sasha, decided to take a cool dip in the pool instead. Smart girl!
Dark finally arrived. The fireworks were enjoyed by most (the exceptions being the dogs who were more unhappy about being stuck in the house and separated from us, than the actual noise and flash of the entertainment).
The fire fluttered to nothingness as the last of the fireworks faded.