It is common
to suppose
that anyone
whom one is not
is predisposed
to like her lot—
that when she drills down
through the ice
to fish
and sees the black
and restless drift
and works against
the cold occlusion
which always threatens,
it is easier
for that sort of person.
“Why? They know I don’t like the rain. And I could have held it for several more hours. I wonder if they’ll leave the pantry open again so I can have another stick of butter…”
“This is my dirt pile. There are many like it, but this one is mine.”
Halfway there
It ain’t ya house till you’ve had to get up on the roof for somethin’.
Late fall rose bloom
Forecast: leaves
A faithful man who’s never let me down • Dad, working on our first cord for the winter 🪵🔥