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This fragment treats development on the hill as the end of an older fire-lit world and the spirit that once lived there.

Even in its brevity, the page contrasts building homes with losing a ritual landscape. The disappearance of fire trucks and parade makes progress feel like a kind of erasure.

In three closing lines the narrator looks 'over the land that would always belong to a man who never knew me' and says he 'stoped building fires when they started building homes on the hill'. There would be 'No more fire trucks and firemen in dress parade along the hill where a spirit used to be.'

The brief ending turns suburban development into the loss of a sacred childhood landscape, with the hill's 'spirit' displaced by houses. The boy's fires and the firemen's 'dress parade' are remembered almost fondly as a ritual that belonged to the old wild land, so progress reads as an erasure. The phrase 'a man who never knew me' keeps an absent owner at the center of the loss, a stranger whose claim outlasts the boy's own attachment to the place.