A neighbor just brought me two big pick-up loads of firewood, which we stacked neatly close to the porch for my convenience. Emma now has it in her head that "something" is living in the woodpile and she aims to have it. She is steadily "de-constructing" the nice job of stacking we did and she is having so much fun that I haven't the heart to stop her. I am, however, hoping the visitor is not a skunk. I doubt it. It's most likely mice, with which she maintains a mafia-style vendetta of great intensity.
Sunday morning music, and homeward bound
11 hours ago