in the falling snow

you split wood with a five pound axe

wood from a forty foot standing pine

killed by thousands of beetle larvae

eating it from the inside

finally felled with a chain saw

limbs removed

trunk cut into eighteen inch segments

then thrown uphill enough times to reach the truck

now, it and others like it

lie in a snow covered pile near the door

the nearby hills are more distant

almost hidden beyond the big flakes

drifting and falling through the air

you take an arm full of wood inside

to feed the ever hungry stove

it is warm, sweet from the pine and smell of wood smoke

coffee waits on the stove

someone is tuning a guitar


Copyright Michael Douglas Scott