Took some ink + watercolor out to the woodshed

Right now...It's August, in Austin Texas. You know: Hell called - it want's it's weather back...

So obviously, a snowy wood-pile comes to mind?

I grew up in Bend, Oregon and spent a lot of time out in the freezing cold splitting wood. As a kid I resented it. We used a heavy splitting maul, and that bastard would cut through dry wood like it wasn't even there.

However, as soon as you committed your whole body into a swing...into wet wood --- boing! The maul would simply bounce off, like you hit a sponge. It was the most frustrating experience, and I remember cursing and just wailing over and over on a piece of wet wood until my arms couldn't take it.
I hated it.

But looking back... and I can admit it now...I wouldn't mind coming out to the old wood pile on a crisp morning and swinging that maul again. There was just something solid and true, and real about it all.

Life is weird like that, isn't it?