Bark of popple, twig of willow: In the woods in winter
I should be in the woods at this time of year. Instead, because of the unusually warm winter and heavy rains that have left the ground saturated and soggy, rather than frozen and covered with snow, and because I managed to do something to my shoulder chopping wood. (I turn forty this summer, and my assumption is that the two different minor injuries I sustained in about two weeks were the official “the warranty on your body has expired and it will all go to hell now” notice.) I mostly haven’t been, but they call me. This is the season of trees on a farm.


