Sunday, December 19, 2004

wee archaeology...

cotton-wooled my ears for the afternoon's employment: sanding. palm sander. face mask. is that what surgeons feel like? a steady hand is steadily hard to come by. flurries of pink dust. hands that feel like they've gripped a train seat for the better part of a day. a bell hum in the joints.

someone left the chairs by the roadside. free. they're child-sized school chairs. 1960's. maybe 1970's. but i am small enough that i sit comfortably. there are two of them and only one of me (thank heavens). my visitors will find the spare too, too spare, i think. maybe adequate as a footstool. maybe it's a good to sit at the foot of someone come visiting. think on it.

yes. i believe so.

boiled linseed oil. hot coffee atop the sawhorse. refinishing. again finishing. they were distressed and i could have left them. pink tweeded. birch fleck. opted for this other. uncovering. how many small impressionable humans parked haunches there? how many questions? and recovering. a fold and a palm stroked over.

hmm. i go.


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