The wood inside my fingertips has been
polished to within an inch, smooth and
burnished it calls out to me, a cry that
knocks on the door and demands to be
let in, I am transfixed.

This craftsmanship is something I have
no knowledge for nor about, I have only
heard second hand the virtues of proper
maintenance and care, but its presence
makes my heart flutter.

Am I truly allowed the use of this? This
tool from the heavens here on earth that
has been guarded and kept pristine from
folks who would abuse? I am not ready,
not even slightly worthy.

A great deal of trust placed in me and
I am overwhelmed, for this is not a
light touch of grace, I cannot handle this
I know my limits and they have been
reached, put me away.