Forehead Burnt

We have been preparing the overgrown pasture to enclose animals again. Trees have been cut and are ready to be burned or diced up for fire wood (funny how we chop trees down to cut them up). Here is a poem inspired by this labor.

“Forehead burnt”

Wood, dry
Ready to black,
Piled high,
straining our backs.

Fire, Hot
You eat the trees.
Our pasture full,
‘Til there you be’s.

Truck. Lights.
A man steps out.
“Fire ban”
What you talkin’ ‘bout?

Bucket, full
The water falls.
Fire done.
…a sneaky call.

We had controlled burn and chose a day with no wind. But, we did burn a pretty large pile which took some wrangling and gave me a little forehead red spot. The firmeman was pretty laid back about it, but he didn’t see the big pile burn. Having the authorities called on you every now and then will keep you aware of them.


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5 Responses to Forehead Burnt

  1. Caroline Brown says:

    genius. i want a picture of this said forehead burn.

  2. Anthony says:

    You’ve totally got the crazy woodsman look down.

  3. Friend Mouse says:

    Sounds to me like another example of governmental intrusion into the daily doings of the common man. No bueno.

  4. Mr. Bruce says:

    I think this should have been done at night, shirtless, and with braveheart/stereotypical “Indian” war paint on. Also, add some sort of hard liquor and rifle begin shot in the air. At least that is my ideal scenario for the fire pictures that you posted. Maybe not with the guns as to not attract the authorities. Wish I was there. It looks like Nate i s about to go into a rendition of “stepping time.” Communal Living stepping time, communal living stepping time, never need a rhythm, never need a rhyme, communal living stepping time!!

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