Thrasher's Call

Against the deep, damp shroud of a rainy night, light and music fill the air. The wood and wound copper work in concert with careful, practiced strokes to paint an image of welcome beneath the lamplit canopy of leaves, whose branches rise from vast-trunked trees, filled and pouring forth with the rings of many years’ slow growth, tended carefully to allow their accompaniment to shine on a night like this.

The wood-borne magic which summons beauty now is this: time to grow.