To those of us who have lived in cabins, in woods, in winter, and to those of us who haven’t.
⁓The Voice before the Void
Edna St. Vincent Millay
Pile high the hickory and the light
Log of chestnut struck by the blight.
Welcome-in the winter night.
The day has gone in hewing and felling,
Sawing and drawing wood to the dwelling
For the night of talk and story-telling.
These are the hours that give the edge
To the blunted axe and the bent wedge,
Straighten the saw and lighten the sledge.
Here are question and reply,
And the fire reflected in the thinking eye.
So peace, and let the bob-cat cry.