THE WOODPILE

Thoreau touched upon it lying golden in the sun, and as it stands there piled up through your own daily efforts, melded once more with the efforts of light over decades you see before you a measure of it all, a presence that stands upon its own as everything that is ever worthy stands: it is tall, it is built of sheer effort, it is faceted with the very truth of effort, and to make a much smaller point, it will warm you when winter comes, without fail. How much like that can we say of this world?