A shimmering sun rises out of a black sea.
It was time to get going. Started on the stem again, amid derision from the family, “How many fingers have you got left?” They asked, with smirks, every time I came indoors for a top-up of tea.
I took it slowly bearing in mind the lessons I learnt when I cut myself. Namely, make sure the wood you’re cutting is attached to the bench and concentrate on what you’re doing.
Painstaking and perfectionist aren’t adjectives that I’d apply to myself. On a moving scale I’m nearer the “hurried and slipshod” end. Hopefully, with this build I’ll move towards a necessary degree of P and P.
“Fixity of purpose.” Were the words that drifted through my head as I whittled away at the stem and “Perseverance” when I had to take the workbench I’d made apart and re-do it. It was just too sloppy.
Here’s the stem, a satisfying shape with is three sets of parallel lines. Though you can't appreciate them here.
And here’s the bench sporting wheels from a child’s tricycle.