You might know what I’m talking about — sticks. You might know the thing my grandmother hand for sticks, for kindling. I think I’ve told you about it before.
I come walking out of the woods, out from under the canopy of the oaks and pines, holding a bundle of sticks in my hand. Kindling. Something to start a fire with. Something to put in a safe, dry place, because… well because you never know when you might need a bundle of dry kindling. Because when it’s wet and cold outside, it’s too late to collect it. Because it wasn’t cold, and it wasn’t wet. Because come springtime, someone’s gonna want to start a fire.
And so I come walking out of the woods with a bundle of sticks in hand.
My cousin chuckles.
“Can’t help yourself, can you?”
He might be smiling at me and that bundle, but you know he’s thinking of our grandmother and hers.