Sky went clear about six o'clock
No cloud to hold the day in
Wind died flat, not a leaf moved
That's the kind of night that gets you
Radio said twenty-eight by four
I went and checked it twice
Trees are three days into blossom
Whole year is hanging on it
Pulled my coat on in the kitchen
Didn't wake her, didn't need to
Took the truck down to the shed
Where the pots have sat since March
Forty gallons of number two
A rag, a match, a long-necked lighter
Two hundred pots in fourteen rows
And one man to get them going
I lit them one by one
Down the rows in the dark
One by one, one by one
Till the whole orchard had a heart
I lit them one by one
First one catches, throws a little orange
On the bark and on my boots
Second one, then the third one
And you start to see the row
Smoke lays down instead of rising
That is how you know it's cold
Breath comes out and just hangs there
Doesn't go anywhere at all
Thermometer on the fence post
Twenty-nine at half past one
I am eleven rows in
And it's going down, not up
Hands don't work the way they should
Match won't strike, and then it does
I stopped counting how many
I just kept moving down the line
Three in the morning is the coldest
Everybody knows that
Three in the morning is the coldest
And I've got five rows left
Twenty-eight. Twenty-eight.
Held there like it was deciding
I put my hand up to a blossom
Cold, but it wasn't stiff
Last pot went in row fourteen
I sat down on the wheel well
Two hundred little fires
Going out across the dark
I lit them one by one
Down the rows in the dark
One by one, one by one
Till the whole orchard had a heart
I lit them one by one
Light came grey behind the ridge
And then it came in pink
Frost on the truck, frost on the grass
Frost on everything but them
White as anything, all fourteen rows
Not a brown edge on them
She came out with two cups
Didn't say a word, just looked
I lit them one by one
