My father
Gave me my first axe
When I was 8 years of age
39 years later
It’s my go to tool
I’ve honed my skills behind the axe
And
Honed its blade!!!
Its weight
Its length
Its handle
Which soaks in my sweat
And
Sometimes my blood
Becomes a part of me
And me of it!!!
A symphony of
Cutting, slicing, and chopping
Me, the conductor
It, the instrument
The Axe and Cutting Mattock
Have been in my hands
My father’s hands
His father’s hands
His father’s, father’s hands
So on and so forth
All the way back to Ireland, Scotland, and Wales
Back to Scandinavia and The Vikings
The axe is deeply rooted in my blood
My DNA
Everything that is me
When it comes to working outdoors
One day
When I’m old
And my hands too feeble
Too crippled
To hold my axe
I’ll look back on the lands I’ve shaped
The dirt I’ve churned
The trees I’ve fallen
And remember
My days
Behind the axe
