the woodworker

a metaphor about the Spirit of Compassionate Providence

the woodworker

in the golden light of the lanterns,
in the savory scent of the sawdust mist,
on the carpet of wood shavings that soften his steps,
the old man,
in the quiet of the night,
works the wood,
as if a priest at prayer,
with hushed and holy care.

with reverent touch, the old man’s hands,
runs the blade of the plane,
back and forth,
over and over again,
shaping,
smoothing,
shaving away,
seducing to life,
the wood’s second life,
as if a priest at prayer,
with hushed and holy care.

with craft garnered by his many years,
the old man makes the fateful cuts,
cuts made once and only once,
mortise and tenon, they become as one.
the joint is strong,
they do belong,
the bond is sure,
a perfect fit, it will endure,
as if wed by a priest at prayer,
with hushed and holy care.

with patient time the old man works away the night,
first the chisel, then the sand,
first the shavings, then the dust,
closer, closer, ever closer,
finer, finer, finer, ever finer,
he gives the wood his loving touch,
sometimes a splinter is his return,
a painful “Ouch” ,
but he will go on,
til morning’s dawn,
for he is a priest at humble prayer,
always with the  hushed and holy care,
working wood in the golden light,
working with sawdust in the air.

The End

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