In the Workshop

The smell of fresh-cut wood drifts through the air,

a neighbor builds a deck, clouds rising with care.

Sawdust swirls, dancing, in sunlight's soft beams,

reminding me of summers, childhood and dreams.

In grandpa’s workshop, where time seemed to pause,

I'd watch him create, the saw’s rhythmic jaws.

Each shavings’ descent was a story well told,

like memories gathered, now precious and bold.