Pat White
There’s an old saying about firewood:
It warms you more than once.”
Maybe even three times, or nine, depending on how you count it. A tree has to be cut. Next it may have to be shifted, or cut into lengths for splitting. The lengths have to be stacked somewhere, before the splitting axe is brought into action. Once splitting is finished the firewood has to be stacked again and stored somewhere dry to wait for burning. When days are cold, wet or frosty during the winter months, loads of firewood will be taken from their shed to the fireside. Only then does the burning wood in the grate provide warmth to all. In the meantime, those people involved in the gathering process have managed to be warmed several times over.
Loss is like a current. Like fish, we respond with instinctive movement, ending up where we’re going but not, perhaps, where we intended. For some writers, the waterfall propulsion of grief channels, over time, into extraordinary work. Here are some books eloquent on loss, but greater than that, they reveal nature, character and a profound sense of being in the world, being part of it.
In summer our feet are more often seen in public. Noticing my own sandalled feet recently has prompted me to think, and to write, about our shared history.
Corpus is taking a replenishing break over Christmas and New Year. While we’re away, dip into the Corpus archives for some great reading. Here’s a small selection of this year’s most popular posts to start you off: