The carpenter’s saw sang as it cut through the beam. I smiled, listening to the rhythm of the workman’s arm moving up and down. A sparrow twitters somewhere in the trees, building a nest, no doubt, building a home in the trees as this man builds a house from the trees. And God sees it all.
Rising from the stone I’d sat on, I smile and nod toward the carpenter. He doesn’t see me. Down the road I travel, wondering if I’ll ever find my own harmony, if I’ll ever sing the homemaker’s song.
For now, the road’s my home.
Tale Told 