#89
I like
wood working. It is good. I like the piles of shavings, reminders of the days labor. I like the smell of the sap, filling the room and sticking to the inside of my nose. I like the lines in the grain. I like that I can do it with my own hands, the way my father did, and his father before him. I like that the bugs work the wood, living in it and eating of it. I like that I will be reminded of all these things while l sit at this desk.