You let the fire die and there’s no kindling left because you didn’t pick up enough. What did you do that for? Good thing kindling grows native here!
Even in the snow.
Most kindling grows underground in winter weather, but wild patches ready for harvest stick out above the frosty coverlet. Come on, I’ll show you! Get the buckets.
What do you mean, I have to get the buckets? YOU’RE the one who let the fire go out!
What do you mean I’m talking to myself?
Maybe I’ve been marooned too long.
This is what our driveway looks like, which is why I can’t remember the last time I went anywhere:
I’m not the one who made those tracks. The Queen of England made the tracks when she visited me with her entourage. Wait, that didn’t happen…. Yet.
At least I have dogs for company. The dogs are real. I think!
They run out ahead of me. Harvesting kindling is their favorite thing.
Here’s the pond. They walked straight across it. They walked on water!!! They are gods among dogs!
I can walk on water, TOO!
I hear a CRACK and back off onto solid snowy ground. I am not as divine as dogs.
Or I’m heavier.
Hark! I have discovered a hearty brace of kindling blooming forth from the snow!
I claim the finest pieces for my buckets, but find it too green for my liking.
The best wild kindling is dry, inside and out.
The dogs have reconnoitered a better patch further on.
I knew there was a reason I brought them with me.
Never mind. Knaves, all.
Boomer: “Eat his head, Giant Puppy. Your mouth is big enough. I won’t look. There will be no witnesses!”
I harvest the kindling on my own, but it’s a good patch. Gourmet kindling! Dry and sturdy.
I fill the buckets with my bounty.
The river is down below, partially frozen.
The house is way back that way.
Also frozen due to lack of kindling.
But ’tis frozen no more!
It’s warm! I have kindling! I’m ready for the Queen. When’s she coming? She’s not coming? WHAT?! Hello?