Effort does something about the night, wood on the fire, this contemplation of fact and fancy, heat like a warm embrace. These are things we can depend on. If the grip is sure and solid, the log will split. It will make good kindling. We are safe. If the feelings are mutual. The feeling must be mutual she told me. The stove told me that fire needs a place, its use was so reassuring. The trees told me to dig in and grow. The wind told me the feeling must be mutual, drawing on the fire and rustling through the trees. The leaves told me a lot about letting it lie. The trees said the earth is a slow fuel for a slow fire, and be patient. This is what love is.
22 August 1973