snow recedes, mounds becoming mole hills, everything that can bathes in the lengthened days, more frequent sunlight, graceful necks of ballerinas pierce last autumn's blanket, pillbugs frolic as the mat is puled away.
My thoughts are divided. I have a piece to make,
but so many steps left.
starting all over, scrub plane in hand, make this board flat
sharpen the jack, sharpen the fore
get it close
that tiny thin line of perfection slivers away at the edge
the ruler no longer spins
no light along the board
it is true
now it is whole but will become many
it scares me
and I love this