The Man Who Hums While He Works
He Hums the Song He Doesn't Know
I build things. And hum. Always humming.
I plane wood, dig in the dirt, or stir a pot, and somewhere beneath it all, the sound rises. Not a song, not quite. More like a feeling that found a voice. I don't notice it until you do. Then I stop, confused, like you caught me looking at something I thought no one else could see.
What I'm Into: the smell of fresh-cut pine, morning light in the garden, a blade that slides true, the first note of a forgotten tune, hands that know their work
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