One of our neighbors keeps enough firewood to heat an entire village, I swear. He lives in a darling moss-covered, tiny gabled house fit for a gnome which is situated on a wooded, half block with a statuette of Michelangelo’s David, dwarfed by towering cedars. This calls to mind Grandpa reported last week he finally got enough wood to last the entire winter and then some, he gets it from the forest on the other side of the field. Fells and chops everything by himself. Hauls it back up with the four-wheeler, probably a million trips. When I was a boy he’d give me just enough time to swing the axe to make myself useful (and deadly) but mostly he split everything and I handed it to him through the basement window. He has always been a powerful man yet wields the axe so effortlessly it seems connected to supernatural guy-wires. Oliver Fern and I were walking home from piano last week, that’s when I captured this. Reminded me of home. Just Queen Anne’s lace and rusty barbed wire for the picket fence.