fine, I'll just start small again

There are trees, from the first branch and below, that catch a bad side of rotting wood in the summer and a bad side of all the other damaging natural elements. They are logs, they will be firewood when we get around to them and around came this afternoon. It's not time to cut, and this I've always been thankful about my dad for, it's just time to plan what he'd like out of the woods by the time temperatures near a single zero. Trees that have fallen can rest for years if they collapsed during a storm and they've uprooted or, like here, are just on a slope.

He'll cut with the chainsaw next week. My work continues soon since I didn't just dig out tunnels beneath the logs at spaced out intervals but bow sawed and mauled my way through one log to try to roll away and prop up. Not only was the longer side that I thought "I might have more trouble with" impossible to lift more than six inches up or in any direction but the shorter "man, I'm really going to clean this place up and I'm not even supposed to be working today" log has some limbs attached that I did mistake for piled brush or just off another fallen log.

I dug the tunnels for the two logs that would have been impossible to cut with a hand saw. What is it about sawing that a minute in you think you're making good progress and the blade begins to curve and you realize these cuts will never connect? No, what is it that the first minute appears to be the first of only five?

I'm rarely outside working past 6 p.m. but as I decided to not go into town and I needed to shower, I sweated some more first. That heat has totally moved on hasn't it? Because it August and last week with Beck riding bikes was the fallest summer day.