From Rickwieser from Independence, MO of the BBQ-Brethren.
The fog from my breath swirled slowly on this cold November morn
And the wisps of smoke rose skyward as the birds echoed up they're scorn
occasionally the sound of silence was shattered by the pop of a spark.
Or the woeful cry of the neighbors dog as he spoke into the dark.
The distinct smell of fresh coffee blends in with the smells of fall.
The leaves twisting and turning downward as they answer natures call.
Mere words can't describe the sense of pleasure as I add wood and tend to my fire.
All the sounds and smells of BBQ just feeds my burning desire.
Is this an act of sanity, to rise so early to perform this task?
You evidently don't know BBQ or you wouldn't even have to ask.