The Timber

with the poignant love
of one who knows
the pain that is to come

he fingered
the grain of the wood
touched it
reverently
felt every nuance of its texture
ran his hand
along its roughness
gazed
at its patterning

saw deep below
its splintered outer surface
to the beauty
at its heart

pressed his face
against the timber
felt the strength of it
breathed in the smell of it
buried his mind
in its touch and its scent

a soft
woody fragrance
stirring echoes
of childhood

memories of
the toddler in the sawdust
at his father’s feet

images of youth
the young man
learning the carpenter’s trade
but knowing
always knowing
there was other work
for him to do

and his mother
speaking softly
telling
and re-telling
again and again
always with affection
the story
of the manger

a crib at his birth
a cross at his death

timber
framing his life

his whole history
flashed across his mind
as he fingered
held
breathed in the scent of
the wood
memories
mingling with the pain

there was something
completely right
about this death which was his destiny

he was ready

now was the hour

he stooped
to shoulder a piece of wood
for one last time