The sweet resin-y smell of the wood shavings
curling wave-like in a thin wooden surf
that breaks over the cold steel chip plate
of the ruthlessly efficient smoothing plane.
 
That smell of biscuits from the sawdust
dislodged by the brass-backed tenon saw
as it pursues its relentless and alternating
journey to-and-fro across the grain.
 
The excitement and wonder at the precision
of the drill bit eating its way into the wood
leaving the waste in its wake
like small and twisted yellow worm casts.
 
The joy as a mortise accepts its tenon
like a maiden on her wedding night.
Or the pleasure at beholding
the mirror satin smoothness of the grain
exposed by each pass through the bench saw
 
Experiencing these sensory pleasures
attracts the romantic to this noble trade.
The delight in such observancies
transcends the practical world of DIY
and transports us to the realm of metaphysics.
 
(or it might be the fumes from the PVA glue)