Wood for the stove:
Dressing for cold is the first part.
No, ignoring the muse is the first part.
First the thin socks, under the wool socks. Before the boots. You're in a sweater before you notice you're out of wood. Heavy coat, knit cap. The gloves are in the pockets. Walking to the wood shed, you stop and say hi to the crows. Always say hi to the crows.
Now to dress the axe, first the file, then the hone. A deer hide resting on your lap sitting on the stump. A steady snick, snick, snick, file cutting steel. Axe head resting on the hide. Bright sun on the new edge. The hone just kissing it. A younger man would test the sharp, but you’re old and know.
Throwing the splits from the wood pile to the stump, you let the arms swing. Reach up, swing down, down and away. No hurry. Another rhythm. 16 rounds should do it.
Unzip the vents in the side of the coat, you’re gonna heat up in a hurry. Some say chopping wood is a Zen thing, anything is a Zen thing. Me, I want a warm home.
Cut four years ago. Dry hardwood. Before the axe sets to swinging, kick the ground clear of junk. Good footing is a learned lesson. As is seeing the wood. Where does it want to split? Where are the knots? The axe only persuades.
Set the right distance, feet apart, lift the axe straight up one hand at the end, the other halfway up. A good heavy splitting axe will do the work. Arms extended. Let the upper hand slide down as the swing starts. Strike.
The sound startles the crows, they want no part of this and flee. Three strikes and one is done. Throw the splits to the wheelbarrow behind you.
Place. Set. Strike. Clear.
Take a moment to notice what you’re doing, and what you’re not doing. You’re not worrying about your writing. You're not entertaining the muse.
Place. Set. Strike. Clear.
Coffee is better made on a wood stove, you’re not sure why.
Place. Set. Strike. Clear.
Dressing for cold is the first part.
No, ignoring the muse is the first part.
First the thin socks, under the wool socks. Before the boots. You're in a sweater before you notice you're out of wood. Heavy coat, knit cap. The gloves are in the pockets. Walking to the wood shed, you stop and say hi to the crows. Always say hi to the crows.
Now to dress the axe, first the file, then the hone. A deer hide resting on your lap sitting on the stump. A steady snick, snick, snick, file cutting steel. Axe head resting on the hide. Bright sun on the new edge. The hone just kissing it. A younger man would test the sharp, but you’re old and know.
Throwing the splits from the wood pile to the stump, you let the arms swing. Reach up, swing down, down and away. No hurry. Another rhythm. 16 rounds should do it.
Unzip the vents in the side of the coat, you’re gonna heat up in a hurry. Some say chopping wood is a Zen thing, anything is a Zen thing. Me, I want a warm home.
Cut four years ago. Dry hardwood. Before the axe sets to swinging, kick the ground clear of junk. Good footing is a learned lesson. As is seeing the wood. Where does it want to split? Where are the knots? The axe only persuades.
Set the right distance, feet apart, lift the axe straight up one hand at the end, the other halfway up. A good heavy splitting axe will do the work. Arms extended. Let the upper hand slide down as the swing starts. Strike.
The sound startles the crows, they want no part of this and flee. Three strikes and one is done. Throw the splits to the wheelbarrow behind you.
Place. Set. Strike. Clear.
Take a moment to notice what you’re doing, and what you’re not doing. You’re not worrying about your writing. You're not entertaining the muse.
Place. Set. Strike. Clear.
Coffee is better made on a wood stove, you’re not sure why.
Place. Set. Strike. Clear.