Air perfectly still. Glitter of the stars and a tiny sliver of a moon against the pitch black sky. The sky seems so much closer when it's cold. A single incandescent bulb illuminating the interior of the woodshed with rays of light sneaking out through the woodpile. Dog faithfully by my side offering assurance and companionship. Almost like Danny DeVito at the salad bar in Tin Men. Stood there surveying the pile with sling in hand, contemplating what size splits to take in what order. No sense of urgency with the cold, as if the single bare bulb was providing heat. Back and forth, load after load, alternating between -18C outside and 77F inside, dog happy for the company, the troubles of the world seem so distant. Life is good.