Page 4 - Contrast1976Decemberv20n1

CHOPPING WOOD

The scent of myself, flannel and leather
mingles with sawdust, bark, and cider
as tart as crabapples in brown leaves
fallen in the Fall. The air is
drunken in cold draughts, gasping,
as a dapple day of browns and blue
closes with golden shafts of light.
I sit with my axe among the woodchips
watching a squirrel play.

~ seeps iu.lo str!nu2 koans

~G-ng ~'fe Gla ~7

'Wa;ki~ ~ d~~ ~7

~ dGc.vi~ oves- ~7

~ Vtt~7 bz;b f<3r' r,i1?~

~~a:Ls~e.