i felt spent and unimaginative yesterday and couldn’t find anything to shoot that i hadn’t already shot, and in some cases, shot multiple times. my rule when i’m stumped has always been to find inspiration by going narrower, or deeper, or both. so i went narrow, looking around me while sitting on the living room couch, and suddenly my gaze landed on our stack of firewood. “hello, firewood,” i said. “my name is mary jo.”
firewood end cuts
saint paul, minnesota
Save
Save
Save
Ooooh, end grain. When I was hiking near Hiroshima about a decade ago, I had the opportunity to view the end grain of a tree that had fallen across the path and been cut away. The tree, well over 100 years old, had a dark, angry circle about 60 cycles of xylem and phloem in from the bark.
I wonder what stories your firewood has to tell?