I heard crunch when I stepped into the woods. It was caused by the breaking of ice, not the breaking of fall leaves.
An unusually wet fall delayed the annual wood-cutting ritual until this past weekend when the ground finally froze.
The thermometer read five degrees when I awoke, but the forecast called for calm winds and sun and a high in the 20s. In other words, it was a perfect day for cutting wood.
As always, the spouse cut, and I carried the logs to the awaiting tractor and wagon.
Soon, I was shedding layers: the hat, the coat, the gloves.
The shedding continued when we returned home hours later. While the jeans and socks and gloves dried by the fire, I sat nearby in my long underwear and a dry pair of socks.
I was ready to cap off the perfect day with popcorn, porter and a football game.