My passed neighbour, the craftsman, struck his face in an accident that involved a hammer and wood; it left him blind. Now, his son constructs a bird feeder with his hands (the subtle purpose of craftsmanship, of alignment). When he hits the wood he is either saying "hello" or "goodbye," "I am here" or "Where have you gone?" Without gloves, he uses his fatherís tools to measure, calculate, construct. "I cannot remember the sound of your voice," but always to his father, "I cannot see your face." When the feeder is halfway finished he sets it down, turns his hands, and examines his palms, their lines and small blisters. He speaks to the air: "Look now, we are the same."
submitted at 4:30pm
30 July 2010