Colin swung the ax over his head and brought it down, straight and true, into the heart of a section of log, neatly splitting it in half. No stranger to such a task, his calloused palms easily guided the heavy tool. In his younger days, he"d used times like this to think deep and powerful thoughts—or at least what his adolescent brain considered deep and powerful. Probably pure tripe, he acknowledged ruefully. But in the last few years, the burden of unanswerable questions left him unable to entertain more than the most fleeing rumination without agony, and so manual labor had become an opportunity to rest his mind. Except that today, thoughts kept creeping in.
Probably pure tripe,Such a pretty lass, and so bright.
Such a pretty lass, and so bright.If I could take the time to get to know
