Board to death

 

I can envision my life as a piece of wood.  Not all edges are smooth and there are several nicks here and there.  I acquired a few splinters during my formative years but survived each one with little discomfort.

I never really knew if I were to be a small part of something much bigger or maybe be content becoming a simple doorstop.  Shaped like a wedge of cheese, using my slight knowledge of physics to keep the wind from slamming the door, which by the way is 50 times bigger than myself.

As it turned out, I was to be nothing more than a trimmed off end of something else.  I have no idea where the rest of me went, but I’m sure it was important.  If it was my destiny to simply be a leftover, that’s okay.  If nothing else, I can add to the scent of the lumberyard. 

And just maybe, someone might have a project in mind that requires bits of wood.  I’ll fit right in.  Who knows where I might end up?  I can’t really recall ever being a tree.  You’d think I’d remember something like that but I don’t and I don’t think I want too.  Cut down in the prime of life.  Leaves and branches gone, being feed through some giant machine, cutting me into two by fours, planks and boards.  Sort of a sad death when you think about it, and that lumberyard smell you so much enjoy...  It smells like a graveyard to us. 

Take a few steps into the forest and breath in.  You'll see the difference.