desk

La scrivania. Oaken, wooden, mahogany. Heavy, gorgeous woodworking. Smells fresh like it was just carved and painted. I run my hands over the rings and wonder how some genius got this beautiful piece of furniture to succumb to this shape. It is a deep brown color. It is large and expansive. It is rich and smooth to the touch. This desk will be my launching point or pad, it will be my diving board, it will be my dock where I will set sail every time I write. I desire a desk like this. In a big room, by a window. Over looking the ocean or rolling fields, or something equally awe inspiring; A safe place where I can perch and watch and drift off.

This desk was once a tree, but it is so well designed, I do not think it was made with other en masse. This was a personal project for a specific woodworker. I can see him in the forest now, with his walking stick breathing in fresh air and looking around to see which tree dares call to him. When he finds it, it is large. He puts his hand on the rough bark, gets close, and takes a whiff. A master of his craft, he knows it’s a good one. He circles it a few times, making sure is no damage or termites. He sees none. He then marks the tree with a big black ‘X’ and doubles back to get his car. Soon, he is there with his friends, fellow-woodworkers in arms. And they are in the process of safely cutting this tree down. It smells like fresh wood. They are wearing masks, as splinters split off everywhere. Thumps and crashes as large branches come down. They load up the truck with everything. There is equipment there to help them lift what they cannot carry. The man is pleased as he leaves the forest with more than enough of what he needs. He will make a desk. He sees the undrawn blueprints in his head already. He is excited, high on adrenaline and wood shavings. This is what gets his heart thumping in his chest. This is what gets him excited about life. This is his craft, his calling. He pulls his pickup outside his shop and starts unloading. He gets out his equipment. Turns on some music, and gets to work. Humming and cutting.

Author: Roe

29. she/her. Songwriter & Trek Punk Soul™.

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