The wood man just dumped three cords of seasoned wood in my side yard, to join the cord of very well seasoned wood already stacked in the back yard. The jumbled logs sit like a New England pyramid left in warning/celebration/acceptance that winter is coming. Normally, I would already have the wheelbarrow at work, moving the wood from the jumbled pyramid in the side yard, to a neat stack in the back. Instead, I am writing this blog, and planning to dive into my newest book for an entire day of uninterrupted writing. If I get stuck on a scene, or need a break, I may begin to trundle the wood from the side yard to the back. It will get moved soon enough, anyway.

Our wood shifting ritual comes late this year. Normally, we order wood in spring or summer, so it will season more thoroughly. But everything is done late this year, as we are all busy working, traveling, making new discoveries. The imminence of winter caught us all by surprise (DS1 still refuses to pack away his summer shorts, despite the 40 degree days). The signs were all there — the changing of the leaves from green to red and gold and brown; the bright pink warnings on the windshields of cars parked on our street (Oct. 15 is the start of a ban on night parking, to leave the streets clear for the snowplow to do its work); the midnight frosts; Halloween candy in the grocery aisles — and even some early Christmas decorations. We refused to see the portents of the coming short dark days and biting cold, choosing to cling to the hope that winter was far away.

Now the wood man has come. It is time to inspect the woodstove and chimney. Time to stack the wood, and save the newspapers to kindle daily fires. There is something nice about a woodstove with a fire crackling inside and a pot of water steaming on top, ready for tea at any instant.

I’ll still hope for a few warm weeks, but already my mind turns toward the cocoon that forms here in winter. My office is almost ready (maybe one more bag of trash, one more day of rearranging, filing, dusting). All winter, I will sip my tea, feed my fire, and by the time spring comes, I will be through half the wood delivered today, and my new book will be drafted. Just in time for the longer, warmer days.

Kelly