Every few days, I have been grabbing a couple of logs from my fast diminishing woodpile to split for kindling. As I think I noted previously, I needed something to split the logs against, and I have been using a massive piece of scrap wood, a former support beam that I take to have been a leftover from the 1968 house remodel.

As I have cut against it with varying futility, I was somewhat amazed to discover that the beam is solid cedar. I noted this one afternoon as I emerged from my car after work and was astounded by the sharp, lovely scent of fresh-cut cedar emerging from the half-century-old wood.

On my way in to town today, I noticed a two-foot stump by the side of the road along a public greensward. On arriving home this afternoon, I hefted the accursedly heavy thing and stumbled up the hill to my yard, where it now awaits the woodsman’s axe. Fetch the tumbril.

The weather here lately is cold and clear, the golden brightness of the sun blaring in some apparent appeal for balance after our forty days of forty nights earlier this year. Today, also, there have been strong winds here and there in the region, causing power outages and the like.

Here, my neighbor’s spinning vents are whirling madly. I know this because one needs oiling, badly, and the high-pitched, constant whistling squeak is beginning to drive me nuts.