Uncle Clarence

Uncle Clarence could wield a splitting axe like Rembrandt used a brush
Split wood outside in the winter cold and never seemed to rush
He’d pick a block and set it straight then peer through squinted eyes
Then one quick flick with a single blade and a stove-sized chunk would fly

He’d size things up, another swing, and as the axe head hit
He would twist the blade to the outside edge and another chunk was split
Another flick on the other side and another piece would fall
He always used a single blade, abhorred a wedge or maul

He’d smoothly work around that block, axe flashing in the light
And he never had to hit it twice, he always hit just right
Precise and quickly fluid, split lots of wood and yet
All afternoon, he never stopped and hardly broke a sweat.

“Chop wood and carry water” are words that come from Zen
I understand that meaning now by thinking back to when
Uncle Clarence with axe and “Dickies” in that beech-wood forest stand
Worked mind and soul and body to that simple task at hand