Early Gift.

It's already well past fifty out there, but I left the building cool overnight so I could do what I'm doing now: listen to the pop-fizz of a very small fire made from the remnants of the cedar siding and a few medium sticks the maple spent the summer throwing into the lawn. The stove's ticking slowly through its paces. These sounds: not since April. I missed it, I missed it, I missed it. I had The Toad in hats over the weekend. Real hats. I had me in hats, too. And flannel. And jeans. This will not last. It's too soon. But that's no reason not to enjoy what we've been handed here. Don't use real firewood yet, in other words, but do head off into the yard to see what other useful deadfall might be out there.