The Wood

The long wood plane once used for jointing,
the hand drill brace not turned in years,
sitting idle in my woodwork shop
I reminisce

Walking down the tractor lane
toward the trees at end of farm
where soon a boy could hide from view-
Joyfully stomping in his woods.

The knotted ash unused from table,
the maple board rip cut for framing,
standing silent in my woodwork shop
I remember

Hemlock near the old saw buck
Old oaks huddled in one patch
Bright white birch on far fence line-
Were more like childhood friends.

The hand held tools on pegs and shelf,
the saw machines snug fit on floor,
safe secure in my woodwork shop
I do recall

Sun ripe raspberry near woods edge
Sweet tart blackberry deep on stalks
Fuel to split for household stove-
And coming of age on that farm.

Funny how the long years ago

stay etched in time to a memory,

like a burning tool to a seasoned board,
in my woodworking shop.