The Tishman Review
Literature and Languages
Will Green is outside in the dark with a chainsaw, cutting a cord of wood into logs small enough to fit the woodstove. His bundled body is tall in the long shadow from the porch bulb; outdoor Christmas lights color the ground around his feet. Familiar strength moves his muscles through tiredness as he works, and he measures success by the neat rows. He sweats. He sheds the wool cap.
Snowflakes land on his hair and glisten the woodpile, many-pointed stars whose edges dissolve as they gather. He’s alone and it’s freezing cold but he likes it. He likes seeing his breath in the air and the largeness of the winter sky as it drops snow that will accumulate to a couple of feet before this storm is over.