Day was cold; frightfully frigid. Yet,
the salty sweat beads covered his head like a crown.
Making an even fluid movement, he swung
the bit in position; pausing a split second.
The sunlight blazed on the blade as he brought it straight down
splitting the trunk of the mammoth oak. Repeating
the action again and again, he spent most of the day
at his task. Taking one step back he reviewed
the results of his work, grinned like a fool and with
the faded remains of a red flannel shirt removed
the woodsman's crown and then headed for home.
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