Winter Is No Wonderland When You’re Chopping Wood!
ever mind that bitter winds have begun to blow and puff their frosty breaths down one's neck, or the realization that most of the birds, who’ve spent the last three seasons gorging themselves at the feeder, have left their nests and flown off to warmer climes. Or, to continue, that the once gentle rain has a definite feel of ice in its now heavy drops. No, never you mind about any of that, what you’ve got to mind is the pleading look in your better half’s eyes, reminding you that the time has come to search out the ancient, rusty axe, and start chopping.
ead hung low, gait sluggish, I head out the door and into the woodshed. Cedar, sweet scented cedar, makes for great kindling ‘tis true, and I do like the softer heat of a real fire, but at this moment a thermostat joined to a baseboard heater has a definite edge in the battle of said heat. But, I must cast aside that 
luring thought, for the moment, and face the stacks of wood which surround me, groan in self-pity, and begin piling finely chopped kindling, and heavy fireplace sized logs, into my aging arms.
deep, resigned sigh escapes me as I picture the long months of wood shed trips ahead. Contemplating the hours of slogging still to come, I shudder. I see myself plowing through thick layers of mounded snow, storm weighted icy rain pummeling down, all to keep alive a warm and inviting fire. Worth it? Oh, yes! Inviting? Oh, yes! But that invitation, allowing one to enjoy the warmth and comfort of a cozy fire, comes into play only after braving winters elements to make it happen. Only after the match has been struck, the flames kindled to life and nursed to full maturity, can the invitee sit back and bask in the comforting reward of his labors.
ey! Even a grouch is allowed to rant on about the discomfort of winter wood gathering and then give in to contented sighs in the enjoyment of its warm rewards. "Look! There, and there! The shadows spinning around the room, reflecting the dancing flames! Aren't they something!"
ever mind that bitter winds have begun to blow and puff their frosty breaths down one's neck, or the realization that most of the birds, who’ve spent the last three seasons gorging themselves at the feeder, have left their nests and flown off to warmer climes. Or, to continue, that the once gentle rain has a definite feel of ice in its now heavy drops. No, never you mind about any of that, what you’ve got to mind is the pleading look in your better half’s eyes, reminding you that the time has come to search out the ancient, rusty axe, and start chopping. 
ead hung low, gait sluggish, I head out the door and into the woodshed. Cedar, sweet scented cedar, makes for great kindling ‘tis true, and I do like the softer heat of a real fire, but at this moment a thermostat joined to a baseboard heater has a definite edge in the battle of said heat. But, I must cast aside that 
luring thought, for the moment, and face the stacks of wood which surround me, groan in self-pity, and begin piling finely chopped kindling, and heavy fireplace sized logs, into my aging arms.
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