Whole Cloth

The last of the snow stuck to the layer of ice that covered everything. Cold enough that there is no fear of slipping, moccasins tack immediately to ice at 20 degrees. I remember once running the jetty at East Dennis, by dint of freezing I actually had grip on ice. Several of the local citizenry had gathered, to watch me fall, but I bounced like an antelope, reached the end, did a sweeping turn, and bounced home. I wouldn't repeat this, but I felt quite safe at the time. Must have been the drugs. I marvel that I'm not dead. Other people marvel too, it was supposed that I would be dead by now. A day like today. I suit up and walk out to the wood-shed, get the maul and wedge. I've ricked six doubles that need splitting. It's dead quiet in the woods, no bird-sound, nothing, just the quiet drip, where a shaft of sunlight hits, or the leaves rearranging themselves. Fuck me that the most interesting thing is always ephemeral. I see a heart check, insert the wedge, I've done this so many times. You'll never feel a thing. Sometimes I don't think you koow