The joy of an arrow
in a master’s hands
No factory mass production
Individually cut, pared bare
stripped and vulnerable
a mere twig
follishness to the casual observer
Until His features
more than cover, become a rudder
His flint
bound to a tip
Vulnerable twig changed to potential weapon
Not yet, until
The master lifts His workmanship
fits it to His bow –
The joy of an arrow in such hands
Caressed with care
Aimed with finesse
Piercing the air
and hitting the target spot-on
The joy of an arrow
in the Master’s hand…