clawmute
ArboristSite Operative
I wrote this a year or two ago & thought somebody might here like to read it.
WINTER WOOD
by F. Jennings (Clawmute)
©2008 All Copyrights remain with the author
For then and not for now I cut
the wood for winter’s fires,
felling Oaks back in the hills.
Crashings heard back in the hills
Green and White Ash fall before
the roaring of my saw
down along the river,
felling on the river.
Winding up the mountain trail
tractor burdened down
with heat for the coming winter.
I think about the winter.
Hot now, but soon I know
my sweat will season to chill,
golden fall to gray winter,
and graying hair to white winter.
Musing by the fire
as cold winds roar outside,
I remember all the labor.
Stiff from all that labor.
It was worth it.
worth the heavy work.
worth the sore back.
worth the calloused hands.
Like a squirrel gloating
over stored nut treasures,
I glory in my wood pile,
swelling with fibrous pride,
I take another sip of coffee.
WINTER WOOD
by F. Jennings (Clawmute)
©2008 All Copyrights remain with the author
For then and not for now I cut
the wood for winter’s fires,
felling Oaks back in the hills.
Crashings heard back in the hills
Green and White Ash fall before
the roaring of my saw
down along the river,
felling on the river.
Winding up the mountain trail
tractor burdened down
with heat for the coming winter.
I think about the winter.
Hot now, but soon I know
my sweat will season to chill,
golden fall to gray winter,
and graying hair to white winter.
Musing by the fire
as cold winds roar outside,
I remember all the labor.
Stiff from all that labor.
It was worth it.
worth the heavy work.
worth the sore back.
worth the calloused hands.
Like a squirrel gloating
over stored nut treasures,
I glory in my wood pile,
swelling with fibrous pride,
I take another sip of coffee.
