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Watching a Craftsman

A craftsman stands ankle-deep in shavings with a pencil tucked behind his ear. He pulls sawdust from pockets each night, and his boots are so often covered with dust he doesn’t notice it anymore.

He watches the grain in a piece of wood and notes how it will move when the humidity spikes in the summer. He can see a tree and know its name, its characteristics, and how it will feel under a chisel.

It is far from glamorous, this life filled with sawdust and shavings, the art taken away and installed elsewhere, the cutoffs and trimmings left behind.

But it is satisfying work, this craft of transforming trees.

As he builds, he thinks of the family meals that will be held around the table, the feet that will tread up the stairs so many times, the hands that will open the door to welcome guests. It would be wonderful, he thinks, if they, too, could see the beauty in this grain.

He is not one of many words, but that is not to say he doesn’t communicate.

Indeed, long after his chisels are quiet, he hopes to keep the conversation going.