fingers

I grip a hammer, spilling old nails and the boards lay aside for when it has been swung. I help haul strange debris to the corners, searching for what’s underneath and not in ready shape any longer. Once in a while, I power my camera and snap photos of the action, the light on the view indicating auto. It isn’t hard to keep up. At times all I am doing is undoing, fixing a mess, or sweeping a surface or elevating shapes of wood with blocks that hold together. My fingers are gloved, for the season is winter, and they do not much feel the cold, although outside the low temperature is striking. I am lucky the work isn’t too hard. It is understood in my hands, and while my mind sometimes wanders, ultimately what I do is good for the soul.

side_of_church

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