Poetry from the Cabin 1/10/2024

Splitting firewood has always seemed to me especially therapeutic. I am no stranger to the joy of physical labor, but in the rhythm and exertion of splitting firewood, I find myself especially present in the moment. No music or audio book, it is a time to simply to be. In our constain multitasking we are perhaps missing out on the simple joy of hard work done well. Kneading bread dough, building a fire, whisking eggs or whipped cream, using a hand saw, draw knife or plane, these tasks seemingly of yesteryear contain a host of presence, wisdom and joy.

Grey tarp crinkles as its pulled back

Releasing smell of dry wood and earth

Select a round, and set it down

Read the grain, and take good aim

Body coils as ax is raised

Man and ax are now one thing

From the toes the ax is swung

Coiled body let go tension

The crack of wood as it splits clean

The thunk of ax on block beneath

A flick of wrist now frees the tool

New round select, set on the stool

Within this task of firewood

Whole man in truefull moment

In life and work fully engaged

Body and mind both in one place