How well have we loved each other?
A curious question.
Thirty-one years together.
We must have done some things right, yes?
But how well have we loved each other?
My husband, a timber faller then wood worker,
strong hands, rough from his work,
gently cradled babies and held mine.
As an artist, drawn to the wood's inconsistencies,
knot holes, blemishes, insect trails,
intentionally focusing on the simple beauty
of imperfection.
Perhaps this same unique beauty,
these highlighted imperfections,
are also what makes this thing called "us."
There are few straight grains
in our relationship.
Curled shavings pile up on the floor of the shop,
releasing the beauty of the wood
into a smell that can only be called home.
How well have we loved each other?
Enough. Always. Forever.
Highlighting the imperfections.
Creating something uniquely beautiful
into us.
