The final push

Who tells you when to finish?

I used to love writing exams. The studying was terrible. The writing process was fraught. People were tense and generally miserable during the lead up. What was great about an exam?

One sentence: “Everyone stop writing.” One sentence? There were a couple more. “Put down your pens. Hand in your papers.” I loved exams because someone else told me when I was finished. The exam was like a storm and I couldn’t control the weather.

There was a storm in September. She was called ‘Fiona’. Nasty, loud, big and full of hot air, her name, which means ‘fair’ looks more like a joke every day. Though life is essentially back to normal, the forests are still pretty messy.

My back yard must be a forest. It’s still a mess. I’ve had a blast processing the maple and willow that were blown down. I didn’t have plans for this. Shit happens. I can’t control the weather so, processing trees became part of my life.

I began with a sprint. There was so much to do. Too much. I spent days hacking, cutting, sorting a…