Didn’t cure enough wood from last winter, so I cut trees for January, February, March. Already we’re breathing fires into vestal each morning over ash and coals. Between two dogwood stands out west, a V for sighting Cherty Ridge. This year in that V, a scuppernong vine. I’ll pull it from the branches when the rains stop. But it is something, that tendril reaching out, twining where there had been gravity and air.