If I am repaired, can we meet again for the first time, in all of the places I have feared to go, and then, again, in all of the places I will have forgotten, if I am repaired?



SC



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Monday, January 2, 2012

The not-so-poetic Lumberjack.


So, I’m out at the sawmill yesterday, converting standing timber into piles of lumber and firewood and mulch. All the while, this ditty is going through my head…


Sorry little tree,

chop, chop, chop.

Sorry little tree,

snap, crackle, pop.

I’m going to build a house,

heat it with wood.

I’m going to build a house,

right where you stood.



… lovely.

3 comments:

  1. That turned the latch on the locker that holds a 65 year old memory of me standing in the woods watching my dad, uncle and neighbor men cutting the tall pines so that lumber could be cut to build our house. The memory is years long and is involved having many parts. It is a good memory. I need to tell that story.
    As I was cutting up an old house yesterday while working at the woodpile I thought of the tree that made that house, the shelter and comfort it may have given to squirrels then the shelter and comfort it may have given to humans and now it was going into my stove to give me comfort. Next it's ashes will go into the dirt pile from which other trees may grow.
    Seems more fitting than the land fill for which it was destined.

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  2. great rhythm and lyrics... funny how melodies, tunes rhymes words repeat in our heads when doing repetitive tasks.. happens to me all the time.. do you think it is the other side of the brain trying to find something to do while the other side of the brain is on auto-pilot.. love it when it happens... wish I also had a brain recorder so I could remember them all..

    I appreciate OF's story too... what would life be like without trees.. may not have survived.

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  3. am i crazy, i feel great tension here.

    i posted shots of a tree just this morning. and i was all in revery as i was working them last night, thinking of how i touched them, of how they touched me. and then i got up from my wooden chair and pitched three logs in the fire. wtf?

    i like your place.

    xo
    erin

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