Tuesday, August 7, 2012


Deep down in some primitive part of my psyche, I find a stack of firewood to be very viscerally satisfying.  It's insurance for the winter, a stack of warmth.   I like to cut it. I like to smell the sawdust.  I like to stack it, and I like to burn it.  Most of all, I like to see it stacked high in the fall, surrounded by yellowing aspen.


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