The bignonia on the south wall of my terrace shed its leaves the last few weeks. Its shriveled leaves are all over the terrace floor. I will have to collect them any day now. I just clipped the bignonia’s barren branches hanging over the stone table in the corner of the terrace. And then I kept clipping them into kindling for the fireplace. My beloved will be with me before Christmas, and we will spend most of the coming holidays by the fire. The firewood is already waiting under the kitchen terrace by the north wall. The kindling will come useful day after day, and I already have a sizable stash of it. But I still relished making some more of it and piling it up by the fireplace. The very act of clipping was no less than soothing. Actually, liberating. A welcome exercise in brainlessness, it made me outright happy. Clip-clip, clip-clip-clip, clip… Wielding a pair of sharp clippers, I went on and on until the last branch was cut into pieces of the right length. My work done, I headed for my laptop. Clipping as such deserves a few warm words. And as soon as possible.