Robert Frost’s evocative poem, The Wood-Pile, mourns a beautiful ‘cord’ of maple: cut, carefully stacked in the forest, and then mysteriously abandoned. It is leaning precariously, sinking, long past its best and ‘far from a useful fireplace’. Discovered by the poet, on a wintry walk, Frost considers the apparent quitclaim of such an impressive wood-pile.Continue reading “Stacking wood”