Wednesday, January 26, 2005


Long-time visitors to this inferior endeavor will recall the frequent references to my struggle with the elements, specifically in this case the wind vis-a-vis my firewood tarps.

Well this afternoon in a briefly sunny moment (snowthunder in the mountain distance, blizzards fast approaching on big white legs) I went out to extricate my large tarps which, when last seen, had been neatly covering my stacks of firewood and weighted in place with heavy roof tiles, rocks, oak logs, you name it, maybe even a couple old automobiles for all it mattered, because it doesn't matter.

Because the two or three snowstormy nights we’ve had in the last couple weeks were each preluded by hyperSiberian winds that, howling with laughter, took my tarps, flung them free of their pinions, twisted them into complex topological forms, buried them under matterhorns of snow and stomped on the whole thing with big icy feet for good measure, the while snowing lavishly on my firewood.

So there I was this afternoon, pulling and digging and twisting and flailing and getting avalanched while digging out the tarps, undoing topological masterpieces and retarping the woodpiles. I want them neatly stacked and clean and dry and all in their places, the universe wants them down and dirty and wet and all over the place.

It's only a lifetime thing.

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