Gemotions

The workshop felt cavernous without Mr. Henderson. The scent of sawdust, always a comfort, now felt… lonely. He'd left behind only a neatly folded note on the workbench: "The wood sings. Listen to it. – H." The old master craftsman was gone.

He ran his hand across the smooth surface of the cherry wood he'd been working on. Henderson had taught him everything about the wood. He knew how to coax beauty from a simple block. He recalled the lessons, the patience, the quiet encouragement.

He picked up his chisel, his heart lighter than it had been. He felt a newfound determination. He knew Henderson wouldn't want him to stop. He felt the wood in his hands, and that, in its own way, was all the goodbye he needed.