Write about: the lumberjack.
Had some time to myself this morning and the weather wasn't exactly inviting me outside, so I used it to catch up on a few emails, put in another print order for greeting cards (winter shots that I think should work as Christmas cards), and chip away at the comment backlog.
I'm caught up to the first week of October now. So if you're interested in seeing what I had to say about your writing from, oh, three weeks ago, feel free to have a look.
This afternoon I took Max into town to run a few errands. We were just going to swing by the library to return some books and then do something else, but that didn't go quite to plan:
We hung out and read books and played with letter magnets and shape puzzles for quite a while. It was nice, actually. Good to find a decent rainy day activity around here.
He sizes up the fallen tree, excitement dancing in his eyes. His body nearly vibrates, he is so eager to commence his work.
He squats down with a natural grace I find impossible to resist envying. One hand runs along the top of the wood, tracing bumps and indentations. Fingernails toy briefly with lumps of bark.
Then, at last, he turns serious. It is time to get down to business. But first...
"Max need chainsaw!"
"Here you go," I say, handing him the small slice of wood that he has decided performs the same function as Papa and Uncle Adam's noisy machine. "Watch your fingers."
"Watch your fingers," he repeats as he begins sawing at the log, a mischievous smile on his lips. "Cutting the wood off!"
"Good work," I say, waiting. It doesn't take long.
He starts up his wooden machinery with full sound effects and really focuses. And I'm proud to say he does a damn fine chainsaw impression for a kid two weeks shy of his second birthday.