Yesterday I moved a small woodpile; I could show you a picture of the empty place where the old rotting (aging) wood was, but that would involve moving my sore muscles. I will be using the old wood in the firepit, so I didn’t move it far; mainly, I cleared it out of the little nook formed by the side of the shed and two lengths of fencing that meet at a right angle.

There were leaves that ranged up to a decade in age tucked in the layers of the pile and under the metal supports – that were there to keep it off the ground so it wouldn’t rot. I think pieces of those leaves crept into every fold, wrinkle and pore on my body – and into every pocket. I thought I could feel things moving around on me. I showered. Oh, it felt so good. Then I thought I felt something move on my head . . .

I calmed myself and got my imagination in line and now I am thinking about what to do today. Resting is an option – resting and aspirin-taking.