The November chill has pierced through the walls of the house for several nights. I go out the front door to fetch some of the stacked wood piled high on the porch. Ever since it was delivered a few weeks ago, I have been eager to begin using it up.
I crumple a few pieces of newspaper, lay the kindling, tinder and a single log into the wood stove, and then strike the match to the paper. I wait until I see the flame catch hold. The flames lick the wood, like a cat pruning its fur. When I see the flame shrink I open the stove door a crack, letting in more oxygen. Poof, the sparks sprinkle in many directions and the wood begins to glow.
They belong together, the wood, the flame and the air. When they meet at last, however, they will release their energy and die. Fires need watching and tending as they die, I muse, much like people.
As a child I watched a pine tree in the yard of a neighbor. I could see it clearly from my bedroom window. When I first noticed it, it was the height of a Christmas tree, perhaps 6 or 7 feet tall. It grew so slowly that I was surprised one day too see that it had surpassed the height of the houses on our street. It terrified me to watch it during a storm. The tall trunk would sway and tip from side to side. I wondered if it fell, would the top hit the roof of my house?
The loblolly pines in Tallahassee often fall when there is a heavy rain or wind, bringing down other trees, crushing cars, crashing through homes, destroying lives and transforming the landscape. Many homeowners have had all of the beautiful tall pines removed from their yards.
I love the giant trees covered in crusty bark. Their branches stretch towards the clouds and their roots extend deep and wide under the earth. Last summer, we had three trees cut down from our yard because the tops had died and the chances were that they would come crashing down in the next big storm. It pained me to watch the guide ropes being attached and hear the power saws buzz, and smell the wood being ground into pulp. Not more than a month later one of the many remaining trees in our yard fell and landed directly on the woodpile. It seemed an act of suicide. It also reminded me that as much as we might try to predict the greatest threats to life and safety, we can not control what will topple next or where it will land.
My Turn 
Sometimes you just have to make sure you're not in the way.Nicely done, cuz.
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