The Whittler Comments

Deliberate strokes across a wooden canvas, no story will be written for he seeks only solace. The day behind him he climbs the porch saddle, the knife is his refuge the wood surrenders the battle. No direction he needs the end does not matter, each stroke brings him joy and occasional laughter.

Smiling eyes gaze through the screen window, another trophy she will admire or, as he sometimes prefers,
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