Wood-chopping Sonnet

Grab up some pine I cut up last weekend, back creaks as I put it up on the block, splitting maul flashes, in an arc descends, sinks deep in the wood with a meaty THWOCK. Logs splinter off, tumble across brown grass, coated in saw-dust from the chainsaw's blade, small bits for kindling, they catch flame fast, mix with bacon grease, fire-starters made. Rack up the big stuff in a woody wall, looks like a redoubt from the frontier days, it seems like a lot, but we’ll burn it all, when the snow comes here, it does come to stay. Clean out the camp stove before frost sets deep, nothing feels warmer than wood-fired heat.