When we moved into our new house we inherited a woodpile. I bought an axe, knowing that eventually I'd need to turn the logs into firewood. Last night Terhi was gone with the kids for awhile, so I thought that would be a good time to try out my axe.
There is something very satisfying about unleashing a mighty swing and hearing a quick, splintering sound as two large chunks of wood go shooting in opposite directions. After awhile I realized I should probably find something to hold the firewood in before I got too much farther. Even after settling on one of our garbage cans I realized I'd cut too much. A pity. I could have split wood for at least another hour. Needless to say, I got a good axe.
And no, the title for this post does not hint at any homicidal urges on my part.
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3 comments:
Heh, how many people outside our family would even know the next line of that one anyway? I know I've never heard it anywhere else...
Well, supposedly, everyone who has ever read "1984." I can't be sure. I think it was Annette who introduced this lovely little poem to the Stratton Collected Memory, and if I remember right it was from reading that book.
I think that we must have had the book on tape from the library once. I don't remember ever reading that book. My memory of it is a memory of something heard, not something read. (It's an interesting thought that there is definitely a difference.) In my memory the poem is being recited by a male voice which I assume is the voice of the person who narrated the book on tape that we heard.
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