Heavy rain and wind in the night, and when I awoke at a wee hour, I tried for some time to differentiate between the two. But the noise was too chaotic, and just when I thought I knew which sound was wind, and which rain, I’d be certain it was the other way ’round. So then I thought of morning, of the kindling I’d split before bed, off a slab of kiln-dried pine, and how easy it would turn to fire in the cookstove. And how funny it is that for all the big plans we make (love, money, family, work, and so on), how often life boils down to almost nothing. Rain or wind, wind or rain. Fire in the stove. I like to sit by it while daylight comes.