Warms You Twice
So the cliché goes.
Preparation for fall and winter, there’s some warmth in the sun, still. Rolling logs of oak from the pile in the back field and splitting, splitting until my heart’s content. A field shared with a pair of cranes, it’s calming, it’s one of my favourite things. The quiet and a rhythmic thunk and stack, I’ve never felt so peaceful.
Some to the art gallery, some to the back porch, some to the basement. A rinse in the lake, clear and cold.
There’s those that look young through successful indifference. I’ve lived. There’ll be wrinkled lines in my face from smiles and sunshine, scars on my hands from a slipped chisel or wayward hammer.